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Count Erbach 


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TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF 
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BY 


JAMES I. HELM, D.D. 



DlC 9 1 882 A 

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New York 

ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY 

9 OO BROADWAY, COR. 20th STREET 




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Copyright, 1882, 

By Anson D. F. Randolph & Company. 









































ST. JOHNLAND 
STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY, 
SUFFOLK CO., N. Y. 


PRINTED BY 
EDWARD O. JENKINS, 
NORTH WILLIAM ST., N. Y. 



20 



CONTENTS 




CHAP. 

I. 

TWO PILGRIMS 

• 


• 


• 


• 



PAGE 

I 

II. 

IN THE EPISCOPAL PALACE . 


• 


• 


• 


• 


I I 

III. 

WITH THE VENDER OF INDULGENCES 


• 


• 


• 

22 

IV. 

AT HOME .... 


• 


• 


• 


• 


35 

V. 

DISTURBED PEACE . 

. 


• 


• 


• 


. 

44 

1 

VI. 

WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS 


• 


• 


# 


• 


59 

VII. 

THE SPARKS IGNITE 

. 


• 


• 


• 


• 

79 

VIII. 

STILL ANOTHER FIRE . 


• 


• 


• 


. 


97 

IX. 

NEW CLOUDS 

. 


• 


• 


• 


. 

106 

X. 

AN INQUISITOR'S PROCESS 


• 


• 


• 


• 


120 

XI. 

THE LAST OF HIS LINE . 

. 


. 


• 


• 


. 

127 

XII. 

A CRUSHED AND TORN HEART 


• 


• 


• 


• 


141 

XIII. 

BLIND ZEAL . 

• 


• 


• 


• 


• 

150 

XIV. 

ONE BLOW AFTER ANOTHER 


• 


• 


• 


• 


161 

XV. 

THE ANGEL OF CONSOLATION 

. 


• 


• 


• 


• 

169 

XVI. 

MEETING AGAIN . 

• 

• 


• 


• 

\ 

• 


1 77 

XVII. 

EVIL COUNSEL 

• 


• 


• 


• 


• 

196 

XVIII. 

SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY . 


• 


• 


• 


• 


209 

XIX. 

ON , AN EVIL WAY . 

1 

• 


• 


• 


• 


• 

226 

XX. 

OVERCOME . ‘ . 


• 


• 


• 


• 


232 

XXI. 

A HAPPY HOUSE 

• 




* 


. 


. 

252 


I 


COUNT ERBACH. 


CHAPTER I. 

TWO PILGRIMS. 

TT was a delightful June morning of the year 1517. 

The uprising sun threw his roseate beams like 
outspread fingers through the shady green of the fir- 
trees and awoke amid the branches the brisk people 
of the feathery kingdom, who forthwith shook the 
slumber from their eyes and poured forth their morn- 
ing joy in a volume of deafening melody. The forest 
breathed perfume from many thousand flower-cups, 
to each of which night had given a bridal ornament, 
— a pearly dewdrop of purest liquid, bright and spark- 
ling as a diamond. These jewels, like tears of joy in 
the floweret eye, smiled forth upon the world, which, 
kissed to wakefulness by the Creator’s breath, shone 
with new splendor. From the surface of the ground 
arose, like incense from an altar, a light vapor which 
vanished in graceful wreaths before the sun’s rays. 


2 


COUNT ERBACH. 


In the treetops there was a gentle murmur. The 
hoary giants of the forest were telling each other 
fairy tales and legends of the mighty past, in myste- 
rious whispers; and the air was so mild, so balmy, 
and so fragrant, that the world seemed actually to 
breathe again with a fresher enjoyment of life. 

At the castle of Fuerstenau in the Odenwald, the 
gate opened harshly, the drawbridge was lowered, 
and two armed men on bounding steeds rode down 
the steep pathway. Their eyes were fixed intently 
upon the road; their joyless features were not at all 
in harmony with the smiling beauty of the morning; 
and they appeared even to see nothing of the glory 
of God’s world. For in silence, with downcast eyes, 
they reined in their animated steeds to a gentle and 
measured step. 

They had ridden half an hour when the forest 
opened; and before them lay, in picturesque beauty, 
a sunny landscape. 

For the first time, on emerging from the forest 
shade, one of the knights raised his head; and a 
deep, heavy sigh painfully struggled from his breast. 
“ How beautiful the world is, illumined by God’s sun 
and newly refreshed by His breath ! But man s sin 
is the dismal shadow which darkens all this glory. 
As through a sombre veil my eyes behold it; for in 
it the soul, oppressed by sin and guilt, has no peace.” 

“You speak truly, my lord,” replied the other. 


TWO PILGRIMS. 


3 


“ Without peace of soul life is, indeed, a wilderness; 
and I, too, have amply experienced this spiritual tor- 
ment. But, praised be the holy Virgin, there is a 
means of healing for these deepest of all wounds of 
our life. There in Rome sits the man with the triple 
crown, a man of flesh and blood like one of us and 
yet exalted above all mortals, the vicegerent of 
Christ on earth, the reflection of God’s majesty, for 
he holds in his hand the keys both of heaven and of 
hell. What he binds on earth, that is also bound in 
heaven; and what he looses on earth, that is loosed 
in heaven also. There he sits, a rich lord with inex- 
haustible treasure, not of gold and silver alone, which 
earthly kings also have, but of the heavenly riches, 
all the merits of the saints acquired by them — over 
and above their own salvation. There he sits, like 
a god in human form, and in pity distributes from his 
wealth to the need and benefit of those who are de- 
ficient in virtues of their own. Just at this moment 
the propitious time has dawned, in which the Holy 
Father’s goodness visits us, to put the heavenly gifts 
within easy reach for us. Under the shadow of his 
banner, men of God are marching through the land 
whose footsteps drop blessing; for they give remission 
of all sins great and small. In dense masses people 

throng to them in order to receive the gift of heaven, 

a 

and joyfully give in return their worldly substance. 
I would myself have willingly given twice as much, 


4 


COUNT ERBACH. 


if Father Iselin had demanded it; for now my heart 
is so light and my conscience so free that I look 
abroad upon the world with entirely different eyes. 
Whenever doubt and unrest return in my breast, I 
draw forth at once my letter of indulgence; for there 
I see, in black and white, made sure by the seal of 
God’s vicegerent, that all my sins are pardoned for 
fifteen years. Such witness and assurance of the 
Holy Church cannot deceive, and puts to silence all 
the accusations of conscience.” 

Discourse of this kind suited the Count well; for 
his gloomily contracted eyes gradually brightened 
to a more cheerful look, and his firmly compressed 
lips relaxed to a kindly smile. “I am earnestly 
desirous, my valued Steward, to reach as soon as 
possible the goal of our pilgrimage; and I should 
have much preferred, like you, to have applied to 
the nearest vender of indulgences, Father Iselin, 
who has his station in the neighborhood of Wuerz- 
burg. Yet the advice of my confessor is wise, that 
I should seek one more remote ; in order that, 
by a longer pilgrimage, I may do a meritorious 
work of penitence, and thus enhance the efficacy 
of the indulgence. It is a long and toilsome way 
from the Odenwald to the city of Halle in Sax- 
ony, where the Dominican Friar John Tetzel at 
present has his market. But without a murmur 
will I make this journey; hoping that, for so ear- 


TWO PILGRIMS. 


5 


nest an act of penitence, the more richly will grace 
be given me. In the mean time I shall vigorously 
fast and mortify my body, which is also well pleas- 
ing to Almighty God and has a good recompense 
of reward, as the Holy Church teaches. It is now 
nine years since, by the expenditure of a consider- 
able sum of money on the crusade against the 
Russians who were threatening Livonia, I purchased 
for myself an indulgence of twelve years. The 
period of the indulgence has not yet expired, but 
its efficacy is sensibly weakened. For of late I find 
my conscience uneasy. I know of no other cause or 
reason whence this arises, unless at that time I took 
the matter too lightly and have been deficient in 
a true and honest penance, thinking everything set- 
tled by the payment of the money. Although two 
years ago, together with my wife, I allowed myself 
to be received into the brotherhood of the preaching 
friars at Heidelberg, it has never given my soul rest. 
This time, therefore, will I do an earnest penance 
and humble myself deeply before God, in order that 
I may reap a better fruit.” 

The other knight bent his head in assent. “ You 
will undoubtedly receive the blessing, my gracious 
lord; for your soul is well prepared.” 

The travellers rode now into a village which be- 
longed to the dominions of the Count. It was still 
lying in profound repose: only here and there barked 


6 


COUNT ERBACH. 


a dog, roused from his sleep by the tramp of their 
horses. At the end of the village, however, a door 
opened and an old peasant in miserable garb, ac- 
companied by a little maiden, issued from the hut. 

“Eh, Claus, whither do you hurry so early this 
morning ? ” inquired the Count. 

“To Father Iselin, my gracious lord,” was the old 
man’s reply, who with uncovered head bowed him- 
self humbly to the ground before the Count’s horse. 
“We want to get from the holy man a letter of in- 
dulgence; for he is stopping with his precious letters 
only a few miles from here.” 

“You are doing just what is right,” replied the 
Count and rode forward. 

“But have you also what you will need for the 
purpose?” he asked, once more turning his horse. 
“ I know that you are poor, and have been visited 
by many misfortunes.” 

“ I have sold my goat, gracious lord.” 

“ Your last ? ” 

“Yes, the last.” 

The Count looked compassionately at the old 
man, thrust his hand quickly into his pocket, threw 
a shining golden florin into the peasant’s hat, at the 
same time urging his horse to greater speed, in 
order not to hear the old man’s thanks; for willing 
as he was to dispense benefits, he was equally re- 
luctant to receive the words of gratitude. For the 


TWO PILGRIMS. 


7 


most part, therefore, he bestowed his alms secretly, 
that no one might know the giver. 

The sun waxed hot as the time advanced, and 
the lips of the two travellers became dry, so that 
conversation ceased. Frequently a cool spring bub- 
bled from the shady green hard by the way; but the 
Count resolutely subdued the natural cravings of 
the body, while he invited his attendant to enjoy 
the cooling drink. Hunger also pinched them by 
the time the sun had reached the zenith; but he 
overcame victoriously this temptation also when he 
turned aside to an inn that his companion might 
take some refreshment. 

“How far do you expect to ride to-day ?” in- 
quired the latter when they were again in the sad- 
dle, after the mid-day respite. 

“As far as Wuerzburg,” was the answer. “For 
some time past the highly venerable Bishop has been 
expecting a promised visit from me; and under his 
hospitable roof we shall, if possible, seek our nightly 
rest. He is a noble and worthy dignitary, and shel- 
tered with his blessing, the pilgrimage will be doubly 
salutary to me.” 

The conversation of the two knights, under the 
scorching glow of the noonday sun, became more 
and more languid; for with each hour the fast was 
pressing more heavily upon the Count, who was ac- 
customed to good eating and drinking. 


8 


COUNT ERBACH. 


As the sun was already below the horizon, and 
night began to spread her veil upon the weary earth, 
the Count’s travelling companion suddenly raised his 
arm aloft and cried: “ There is Wuerzburg ! Praised 
be the Holy Virgin ! ” 

“ Are you weary, Steward?” asked the Count. 

“I cannot deny it,” replied the other; “for three 
nights has no sleep visited my eyes.” 

The Count, nodding to him, smiled: “Then you 
will make up your loss in the down beds of his 
Right Reverence. See there the brilliantly lighted 
windows of the episcopal palace. We shall cer- 
tainly find the Bishop at home.” 

After a short and brisk trot, the two held up be- 
fore the gates of the splendid episcopal edifice, and 
announced their names and wishes to the porter 
who opened: “The Count Eberhard of Erbach and 
his Castle Steward send their greeting to his Epis- 
copal Grace and request a shelter for the present 
night.” 

The reader discovers by this announcement with 
whom he has hitherto been in company; and, while 
the two knights are waiting before the gate, it is 
proper that he should have more particular infor- 
mation. 

Tall and commanding stood the powerful and 
muscular form of Count Eberhard. The thirteenth 
of his name, he was ruler of an extensive domain in 


TWO PILGRIMS. 


9 


the Odenwald. Every feature in his bronzed and 
weather-beaten face betokened manly force and ear- 
nest purpose: and every motion revealed the man 
of energetic will, who carried into execution with 
inflexible persistence what he had once resolved up- 
on and taken in hand; who, for his conviction, went 
even to abruptness and severity, and if his passion 
were once aroused, would forget all discretion, all 
pity. Yet there was nothing cold and repulsive in 
his nature; for out of his large dark-blue eyes beamed 
deep thought and warm and tender sensibility. The 
sight of another’s distress could move him even to 
tears; and he was ever ready to aid with counsel 
and deed, putting even foes to shame with speedier 
charity. 

From his own expressions we have already per- 
ceived him to be a Christian of simple and steadfast 
faith, submitting himself humbly and uncondition- 
ally to the authority of the Church. In his castle of 
Fuerstenau, the daily life was according to the strict- 
est churchly pattern; and the least offence against 
the Church was regarded as a sin for which the se- 
verest penance was exacted. 

The other of the two knights was the Castle 
Steward of Fuerstenau, Sir Neidhart Faeustlin, also 
a stout, broad-shouldered figure, as if carved from 
oak timber, with an expression of emotionless com- 
posure and uniform kindliness upon his broad, clean- 


IO 


COUNT ERBACH. 


shaven face. He had grown gray in the service of 
his lord; and, on account of his granite fidelity, was 
the trusted friend of the Count, who esteemed him 
as a brother, and had him constantly at his side in 
peace and in battle. 

Some considerable time elapsed before the Bish- 
op’s servant returned with a pressing invitation to 
enter the Castle: ‘‘His Episcopal Grace would be 
highly delighted to have the privilege of receiving 
such worthy guests.” 

The two friends now rode under the lofty, re- 
sounding archway into the courtyard of the Castle, 
gave their horses to an idly waiting hostler, and fol- 
lowed a page, gayly tripping before them in bright 
blue velvet livery with silver lace trimming, into the 
palace; of which the upper row of windows in the 
main wing poured almost the light of day into the 
court below. 


CHAPTER II. 


IN THE EPISCOPAL PALACE. 

J^ISHOP LORENZ of Wuerzburg, descended from 
the house of Bibra, lived in a dwelling of 
which a prince need not have been ashamed. 
Beauty and attractiveness of style vied with the 
opulence and costliness of the material to furnish 
a pla # ce of residence in which one might live in the 
most agreeable manner. With astonishment increas- 
ing at every step, the Count and his Steward ascend- 
ed the spacious stairway, laid with rich and varied 
Turkish carpet, and illuminated with the magic bril- 
liancy of colored chandeliers. After long winding 
through a succession of apartments, the door opened 
into a lofty and spacious room, out of which a flood 
of light from innumerable wax candles fell upon the 
dazzled eyes. The ceiling of this splendid apart- 
ment was supported by columns, the furniture was 
of ebony, inlaid with silver and upholstered with 
brown velvet. In the middle a table was spread, on 


12 


COUNT ERBACH. 


which, among fragrant bouquets, gold and silver 
plate sparkled in the light of the candles; and up- 
on the exquisite meats and drinks the statues of 
gods in pure white marble looked down from the 
surrounding walls as if in envy. 

The company at table was quite small. Around 
the Bishop sat three ecclesiastics and a lady of dis- 
tinction. Servants were busily passing in and out. 

Bishop Lorenz was a polished gentleman, of noble 
bearing and a benevolent expression of countenance, 
with a certain ease of manner and genteel propriety 
in his gesture, as in his speech. The three other 
gentlemen looked all very much alike, and disputed 
with each other the palm in corpulence and obesity 
of person and deep mahogany color of the face. 
Among them, as a pure white lily amid flaring 
roses, was the lady, with her transparent and deli- 
cate complexion. 

At the entrance of our travellers, the Bishop 
rose politely from his seat and gave them a cordial 
reception. “ Welcome, my noble lords, to our abode. 
I had not the least presentiment that we should 
have the pleasure of seeing this evening at our 
board two such worthy knights. Franciscus,” he 
called to one of the servants in attendance, “ lay two 
covers and also two goblets for the gentlemen; and 
you, Melchior, set two chairs. But let me first pre- 
sent my guests: the Abbot Bernhardus of the Bene- 


IN THE .EPISCOPAL PALACE. 


13 


dictine Monastery in this city, and two of the 
Canons, Anselmus and Thomas, a brother-pair of 
the house of Weidenheim, together with our worthy 
lady friend Gertrude of Lauterbach.” 

The guests named bowed to the strangers, and 
the latter took their place at the table. 

“From whence do you come, my very dear 
Count?” inquired the Bishop with a friendly smile. 

“Direct from Fuerstenau, your Right Reverence.” 

“Ah, then you have had a long and fatiguing ride; 
and a meal will be just the thing for you, simple 
though it be, for we were not expecting such valued 
guests. Please to help yourselves freely from what 
is before you.” 

One of the waiters handed a juicy, well basted 
joint of roast mutton, whilst another filled the gob- 
lets to the brim with noble Margravine. 

The Count declined both. “For my Steward these 
tempting viands will be suitable; but I desire for 
myself nothing but a crust of dry bread and a mug of 
water; for I am engaged in a pilgrimage of penance, 
with the vow of fasting.” 

The ecclesiastics looked across at the speaker 
with an expression of astonishment and pity; even 
the lady fixed the searching gaze of her beautiful 
and sparkling eyes upon the grave and earnest fea- 
tures of the Count. 

The Bishop inclining himself towards the latter, 


14 


COUNT ERBACH. 


said: “You have always been true to the vocation of 
a strict and earnest obedience to the precepts of the 
Church; and the rigor to which you subject yourself 
is laudable. What is the goal of your pilgrimage ? ” 
“ Halle,” replied the Count. “ My heart’s desire is 
intent upon forgiveness of sins, which the Dominican 
Friar, John Tetzel, there dispenses by the plenary 
authority of the Pope.” 

The two Canons exchanged furtive glances, and 
a quiet smile played upon their lips. But the lady 
bent herself over her plate and handled her knife 
and fork with energy. 

“For what reason have you chosen so distant a 
vender of indulgences,” inquired the Abbot; “since 
you had a very much nearer and more convenient 
opportunity? It is, I should think, at the least ten 
days’ ride to Bohemia.” 

“What do you mean by that, my lord Abbot?” 
asked the Count in astonishment. “ Do you look for 
Halle in Bohemia ? It is situated in Saxony, and 
can be reached very easily in four days’ ride.” 

“ So, so,” said the Abbot with a smile of vexation. 
“ One can still learn even in the days of his old age.” 

The lady, casting a mischievous glance at the 
Abbot’s figure, which bore a striking resemblance to 
a wine cask, said: “ Only it must be somewhat more 
difficult to recover in old age what one neglected 
in youth.” 


IN THE EPISCOPAL PALACE. 


15 


The Bishop made a sign of reproof to the lady 
with his raised finger: “Do you wish to bring up 
again the old quarrel with his worthiness ? Why is 
it that you two can never understand or abide each 
other ? ” 

Whilst the Bishop now turned himself adroitly to 
the Count and engaged him in conversation, one of 
the Canons, leaning over to the Abbot, whispered 
in his ear. “ She will never forgive you that you 
want to stand nearer to the Bishop than herself. She 
would like to be all in all here. Be on your guard 
before her: for her head is full of subtle designs 
and spiteful grudges.” 

The Abbot’s red and bloated face became still 
deeper by a shade. “Ill-starred woman’s rule,” he 
muttered between his teeth, and drained the newly 
filled goblet at a draught. 

“ That was a splendid feat of yours, my lord 
Abbot,” said Gertrude laughing derisively. “ In this 
noble art you have not an equal in the whole dio- 
cese; and the Church is much too parsimonious of 
her honors and emoluments in comparison with your 
merits.” 

The Abbot snapped his humid eyes: “I wish 
from my heart the Popess Joanna of glorious memory 
might have a successor from Wuerzburg. I should 
not then need to concern myself about honors and 
dignities.” 


l6 COUNT ERBACH. 

“Bridle your tongues,” cried the Bishop with deci- 
sion; “for it is hard to distinguish joke from earnest 
in your conversation. Sing us rather a song to the 
lute, dear Gertrude, which will be a more pleasant 
seasoning to our meal than this inconsiderate talk.” 

In the meantime the servant brought in and 
handed round broiled fish. 

“ That would be ill-timed for me, your worthy 
Grace,” replied the lady. “ You learned gentlemen 
have a saying that ‘ study and a full stomach do not 
agree.’ It is still more difficult to sing after a full 
meal.” 

The Bishop quietly acquiesced in this refusal, 
and the company at table entered upon the fifth 
course; for before the arrival of the Count and his 
Steward, three courses had already vanished from 
the array of visible objects. 

The Count looked on in silent wonder at the 
appetite of the monks, which threw even his Stew- 
ard, in the shade, although the latter passed for 
the most famous feeder in the earldom. Still greater 
was his astonishment at their capacity for drinking. 
He himself would have altogether lost his conscious- 
ness, had he taken only half as much of the noble 
wine. But over them the fire of the vine-juice ap- 
peared to have no power, although their conversation 
became more and more animated. 

At length the Count turned to the Bishop and 


IN THE EPISCOPAL PALACE. 


1 7 


said: “ Would your gracious Lordship permit us to 
seek repose for the night ? Our limbs are weary from 
the long ride; and the morning light will summon us 
to new exertion.” 

The Bishop nodded a polite assent, and made a 
sign to a servant to light a candle and conduct the 
gentlemen to their beds. 

After they had bidden the company good-night 
and disappeared by the door, the gentlemen eyed 
each other with derisive laughter, and the Abbot 
broke out: “A good soul, this Count! Just like a 
child, he believes in the fable about sin. It is not 
to be wondered at, that the common people allow 
a hell to be made hot for them by priests and 
monks; for the ignorant masses are without sense 
or judgment. But how can a man of such culture 
as Count Erbach still lie so helplessly bound in 
superstition as to make such a sacrifice for a mere 
illusion ? not perceiving that what the Church calls 
sin is nothing more than an infirmity for which man 
can do nothing, and that he need, therefore, concern 
himself no further about it.” 

The Bishop rocked his head thoughtfully and sip- 
ped from his goblet with an expression which showed 
that he was ill at ease. He seemed desirous to 
make some reply, but did not accomplish it. 

In the pause which followed, Gertrude threw out 
with a pungent tone the observation: “ Do you speak 


i8 


COUNT ERBACH. 


that of your own suggestion, my lord Abbot: or have 
others imparted to you this wisdom ? For I could 
not ascribe such enlightened thoughts to your own 
acuteness.” 

The Abbot again pressed his eyes together, and 
making a polite bow to the lady, replied: “ Humbly do 
I acknowledge that you are my instructress, and that 
the pupil will never equal your lofty flight in think- 
ing. For I have not yet risen so high in intelligence 
that I, like you, blaspheme, with shameful words, 
the Pope and the whole Church, dethrone Almighty 
God himself with his angels and saints, in order to 
people heaven again with the old heathen deities. 
I have not yet gone so far that I, like you, call 
heaven in doubt altogether and even seek it here 
on earth. I am not, indeed, so well-read as you in 
the writings of the Humanists, who would ridicule 
Christianity entirely out of the world, in order that 
the old godless heathenism with all its scandals 
and vice may return.” 

The Canon who sat next the lady, awkwardly 
seized her soft, beautiful hand and said, staring at 
the beauty with look half averted: “You excite in 
me astonishment and great wonder; for your intellect 
soars aloft in daring flight, and although you say 
cutting truths against the Church, you are neverthe- 
less right, and no one can invalidate them.” 

The other Canon now made a sign of dissatis- 


IN THE EPISCOPAL PALACE. 


19 


faction. “Be silent: you do not know what you are 
saying. There are now but few left of the church 
princes and members of the higher clergy who still 
continue in the ancient faith, since the revival of class- 
ical learning has illuminated the world with its intel- 
ligence. Even in Rome there is the smallest possible 
measure of faith. It is an open secret that the Pope 
is more like a heathen than a Christian; and he has 
let fall the expression: ‘The fable concerning Christ 
has brought us a large revenue.' Yet it is short- 
sighted to gossip about such things so that the 
people may hear of it. They must be held under 
the strictest custody; for otherwise we have reason 
to fear that the whole proud edifice of the Romish 
hierarchy may some night fall in ruins. Already, in- 
deed, the troublesome Humanists are taking the most 
zealous pains to open the eyes of the people to the 
yoke which the Pope has, for centuries, put upon 
their neck, and the bondage in which their reason 
has been held. What deep wounds have those hate- 
ful and good-for-nothing Epistolae Obscurorum Viro- 
rum * alone inflicted on the Church and the clergy, 
by awakening the ridicule of all Europe. If we join 
them in blowing with their horn, we shall be dig- 
ging our own grave.” 

* “ Letters of obscure Men, ’ ’ published by the Humanists, in which the 
intellectual and spiritual poverty of the monks and priests was scourged in 
the most unmerciful way. 


20 


COUNT ERBACH. 


The Abbot rose from his seat in order to depart. 
He stumbled, however, against the foot of the chair 
and fell with a crash on the floor. After he had 
with some pains, and amid the jeers of those pres- 
ent, succeeded in regaining a standing position, and 
satisfied himself by careful feeling of his limbs that 
his body was still capable of holding together, he 
said with thick and maudlin tone, at the same time 
lifting his hand with a menacing gesture: “If any 
one speak a word against the Holy Father, let him 
be accursed.” Thereupon he took another vigorous 
draught from the goblet; in doing which, however, 
half of the precious nectar ran over on his cowl. 

“ Well done !” giggled Gertrude. “ What must be- 
come of the poor Abbot Bernhardus, if the Pope’s 
sovereignty should to-morrow be at an end ? He 
would have to say with the discreet steward in the 
parable: ‘I cannot dig; to beg, I am ashamed.’ In 
that you are all right, gentlemen. Swear bravely 
by the Pope and his fable: for it is the Pope who 
feeds you and prepares for you a comfortable bed 
of down.” 

“ Gertrude ! ” cried the Bishop, rising flushed with 
anger, and raising a threatening hand. 

But Gertrude met without quailing the look of the 
Bishop’s eyes: she knew who was master of the house. 

The Bishop pushed away the chair from behind 
him, and made a motion to his guests which signi- 


IN THE EPISCOPAL PALACE. 


21 


fied the termination of the banquet; and with a short 
and cool “ good-night,” withdrew by a side door. 

The guests left behind eyed one another with em- 
barrassment, as if asking: “What ails the Bishop?” 
The Abbot measured the lady with a piercing look: 
“This is your work, Gertrude! For quite a long 
time I have observed in his Lordship a state of irri- 
tation; and it was your loose speech that aroused his 
displeasure.” 

With a laugh of triumph and a disdainful look at 
the Abbot, Gertrude without reply glided past the 
gentlemen; and these also immediately left the epis- 
copal palace. 


CHAPTER III. 

WITH THE VENDER OF INDULGENCES. 

“ O EE there, in the horizon, the blue turrets,” cried 
^ the Steward, breaking the silence at evening 
of the fifth day. “ That must be Halle ! ” 

Count Eberhard of Erbach raised himself wearily 
in the saddle and looked with strained vision in the 
direction. “ I shall be heartily glad, my dear Faeust- 
lin, if you are right; for it is all I can do to keep 
my tired limbs erect.” 

When half an hour later the knights rode through 
the dusky city gate, they found that it was not Halle 
but Merseburg. They were soon comforted, however, 
by learning from a passing tipstave that Halle was 
only about seven miles to the north. 

They dismounted for entertainment at the Knight 
George Inn, and found in the reception room a num- 
ber of strangers who were enjoying the Merseburg 
beer. At the table which the Count and his Stew- 
ard had taken, they were soon joined by a man 


WITH THE VENDER OF INDULGENCES. 


23 


who was easily recognized by his dress as a travel- 
ling merchant. The usual questions were exchanged: 
“ Where from?” “ Where to?” and the conversation 
soon turned on Tetzel, of whom the Count spoke as 
holding his market in Halle. 

‘‘There you are in error,” said the trader. “This 
morning I saw the Papal banner of the Dominican 
still floating in the market place of Schkeuditz. Yet 
you may not have to wait long for him; as I heard 
that he afterward set out at noon for Halle. Very 
likely you may find him there to-morrow. Do you 
know anything more particular about him, my 
Lord ? ” 

The Count shook his head. “ I only know his 
name, and that he travels under the commission of 
Archbishop Albrecht.” 

The trader laughed heartily and added: “The sto- 
ries that are told of him are very entertaining. He 
must have been a jolly Christian formerly. At Inns- 
bruck he was found guilty of adultery; and the sack 
was quickly prepared in which, by command of the 
Emperor Maximilian, he was to be thrown into the 
river. Just in time, the Elector of Saxony interposed 
in his behalf as his subject; and, as a mitigation of 
his sentence, he was condemned to perpetual impris- 
onment in the Dominican Convent at Leipzig. He is 
probably a very useful man, however; for the Arch- 
bishop Albrecht has pledged his word for him, and 


24 


COUNT ERBACH. 


accordingly the Pope has released him from confine- 
ment and even raised him to the office of Apostolical 
Inquisitor. He has now for a considerable time been 
marching through the land collecting money for the 
Archbishop, of which the latter is very much in need; 
for the Fuggers* in Augsburg are pressing him for 
the 30,000 gold florins which they lent him to buy the 
archiepiscopal pallium from the Pope. In truth, the 
Archbishop could hardly find a more capable man 
for this purpose; for his words are like a net which 
everywhere makes a good haul. In spite of all his 
cunning, however, he fared right badly not long ago 
at Leipzig. A certain nobleman — we may call him 
Dietrich von Haaken — came to him and asked whether 
he could obtain indulgence for a sin which he intended 
to commit ? In that case he would be willing to give 
ten dollars. Tetzel at first hesitated; under the pre- 
text that such might be a grave case. If, however, 
he would lay down thirty dollars, the desired indul- 
gence might be granted. When Tetzel had pocketed 
the thirty silver dollars, he thought he had taken a 
big fish; but he had only caught a crab. For the 
next day, when he was journeying away from Leip- 
zig, the nobleman lay in wait for him, fell upon him, 
took away from him his well-filled money-box, and 
tanned his hide for him with a stick until he was a 
pitiable object to see. As Tetzel raised a hideous 

* An ancient and well-known firm of bankers and money lenders. 


WITH THE VENDER OF INDULGENCES. 25 


cry of murder, the nobleman took out the letter of 
indulgence and said, laughing, that this was the sin 
which he had intended to commit. There was noth- 
ing for the friar to do but to keep quiet and see a 
fine sum of money go one way and himself another.” 

As the Steward perceived that such stories were 
unwelcome to the Count, he gave the stranger a sign, 
which the latter understood, that he should turn the 
conversation upon another subject. Many of those 
present had from curiosity gathered around the ta- 
ble; and it appeared that they likewise were on the 
way to Halle on the business of indulgences. 

The Count and his Steward soon retired to rest, in 
order to set forth in the morning at the earliest pos- 
sible moment. 

Clear and bright rose the sun on the next morn- 
ing, and the Creator’s works were bathed in the 
richest effulgence of its light. The two travellers 
found themselves in a devotional frame; and the 
Count’s heart beat with fervent longings for the 
heavenly letter of grace. They soon overtook on 
the road a mass of people, who in festive apparel 
were journeying toward the city; also a small band 
of militia. Some of them had evidently come from 
a distance; for their garments were very dusty and 
their shoes soiled. It was like a caravan of pil- 
grims, and devout pilgrim-songs rang solemnly in 
the beautiful clear morning air. 


26 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Before the Gallows’ Gate of the city of Halle, a gay 
and motley picture presented itself. One might sup- 
pose he had happened upon the annual fair. The 
public square was encircled with stakes, around which 
green garlands were wreathed and from which floated 
red banners. In this gay circle had been erected 
two rows of booths for traffic, in which all kinds of 
wares were offered for sale. Among them the wheel 
of fortune was turned, dice were thrown, and every 
kind of game played. A rope-dancer was performing 
his daring feats; and from a large tent was heard 
the roar of wild beasts intermingled with the shrill 
tones of a band of music. There were also for the 
boys climbing poles and targets for archery; whilst 
a little to one side, the grown people were bowling 
for a pig and the productions of the bakery. That 
the love of dancing might have its gratification, two 
spacious tents had been erected, in which the young 
people tripped the mazy dance to the tones of a 
fiddle, and sutlers took care that a cooling drink 
was not wanting to the overheated dancers. 

The Steward lost sight of the Count for the mo- 
ment in the crowd. “What does all this mean?” 
he inquired of a Hallore* who was, in great compos- 
ure, surveying this whirl of gaiety. 

* The laborers who work the salt-springs of Halle are called Halloren : 
They are a distinct race, descendants of the ancient Wends: and preserve 
the physiognomy, customs, and even costume of their ancestors. 


WITH THE VENDER OF INDULGENCES. 


2 / 


The person accosted replied: “ Are you a stranger, 
that you do not know who is expected in the city 
to-day ? The famous Dominican prior and Papal In- 
quisitor, John Tetzel, will shortly make his entrance.” 

The Steward shook his head inquiringly: “ But 
what is the use of all this nonsense ? and what has 
this to do with Tetzel ?” 

“ Do you call that nonsense, sir ? ” replied the 
Hallore, giving a knowing wink of the . eye, and strok- 
ing his hand over the dense row of silver buttons, on 
his blue silk jacket. “Oh, the monk understands 
admirably how to wheedle the people. He knows 
the heart of the masses, how to speculate upon their 
weaknesses, and to find his gain in their passions. He 
fitted up a great part of these amusements at his own 
expense. The rest follow after him, as the sparrows 
do the miller’s ass which carries a bursted sack. So 
throng the people in multitudes to his coffer. Truly, 
the Archbishop could not have found a better man.” 

At this moment the Steward observed the tall 
form of his master in the crowd; he therefore hastily 
took leave of the Hallore, and pressed after his lost 
companion. 

Meanwhile all the bells of the city began to 
ring, and from all lips the cry arose: “He is com- 
ing ! ” “ He is coming ! ” 

Immediately the city guards appeared at the Gal- 
lows’ Gate and stationed themselves with their hal- 


28 


COUNT ERBACH. 


berts, foi the purpose of maintaining order. Entire 
schools marched out in procession, with banners 
and garlands; as also the monks and the nuns from 
all the cloisters, with tapers in their hands, to re- 
ceive the man of God with honor. Last came the 
members of the city Council, in their velvet man- 
tles and barettas, who entered in solemn conclave 
the open square before the gate. In short, the 
Lord Himself could hardly have been received in a 
more splendid and impressive manner; and it only 
wanted that the multitude should sing, as once in 
Jerusalem: “ Blessed is he that cometh in the name 
of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest.” 

In the distance, above the highway, rose a cloud 
of dust; and soon a carriage appeared, to which 
all eyes were at once directed with eager curiosity. 
When it had rolled near, there arose a rotund, 
thickset monk’s figure with the broad, obese, olive 
face which was at that time the type of the fra- 
ternity, enveloped in a costly silver spangled chasu- 
ble. It was John Tetzel. His broad, sensuous mouth 
relaxed to a feeble smile; his naturally small eyes 
were now completely buried amid the projecting 
folds of his fat and puffy cheeks; and his short 
fleshy fingers were raised in blessing over the mul- 
titude, who with arms crossed on the breast sank 
upon their knees. 

Before him was carried a large red cross with the 


WITH THE VENDER OF INDULGENCES. 


2 9 


Papal arms, as well as a cushion of violet colored 
velvet with gold tassels, on which lay the Papal 
Bull of Indulgences. The monk, supported by his 
assistant Baumhauer, marched between the ranks of 
the people up to the Council of the city, who bade 
him welcome in the most reverential and dutiful 
manner. Thereupon the procession put itself in 
motion toward the chapel of St. Martin, chanting 
psalms on the way. When the church was reached, 
the Papal Bull was laid upon the altar, the red 
cross was planted, and the treasury -box, called 
“the mine of heaven, 5 ' was placed beneath it. 

After the people, of whom a part filled the church 
and a part densely crowded the open space in front 
of it, had become in a measure composed, Tetzel 
took his stand in the open door, and, after many 
times crossing himself, began his discourse. 

“Ye dear Christian people, one and all. This 
is the day which the Lord has made for you. Let 
us rejoice and be glad in it. Salvation has come 
to this city of Halle, as erewhiles to the house of 
Zacchaeus the publican; since the Lord has entered 
into the same. This cross with the Papal coat of 
arms, from which at times — as only lately at Leip- 
zig — warm red blood flows down, has the very same 
power as the cross of Christ on Golgotha; and to 
you, who are- counted worthy to behold the same, 
is vouchsafed a special grace, such as has been 


30 


COUNT ERBACH. 


granted to no man on earth since the day of Christ 
and His apostles. This day stands open to you the 
gate of heaven; and he who is speaking to you has 
in his hand the keys of the kingdom of heaven. 
Great is St. Peter’s renown, greater than that of all 
the other apostles. But John Tetzel would not ex- 
change with him; since by means of indulgences he 
saves more souls than St. Peter did by his preach- 
ing. Only the other day at Leipzig, five thousand 
people were released through indulgences; of whom 
only three incurred perdition for the sole reason 
that they like Ananias and Sapphira of old, ab- 
stracted somewhat from the indulgence money. Be 
it known to you, Christians beloved, one and all, 
that until the last day, Christ has put the whole 
government of His Church out of His hands and 
entrusted it to His Vicar on earth. Accordingly He 
now administers everything through this His repre- 
sentative, who is more powerful than all the apos- 
tles, angels, and saints, and can give remission to 
whom he will., This, however, washes every one 
whom it releases more clean than the water of bap- 
tism, so that such an one is holier than Adam in 
Paradise, even though he may have been the great- 
est and vilest of sinners — worse, for example, than 
the thief upon the cross, King Herod, or the fratri- 
cide Cain. Gifts of God, therefore, so high and holy, 
deserve the profoundest honor and reverence. So 


WITH THE VENDER OF INDULGENCES. 


31 


great, indeed, is the power of the indulgence, that 
it not only releases him who brings it, but also 
others for whom it is required. For it avails not 
alone for the life on earth, but its influence reaches 
also to Purgatory and delivers from that fearful 
torment. 


“ ‘ Soon as gold in the coffer rings 
A soul from pain to heaven springs.’ 


“Therefore, beloved Christians, one and all: happy 
are ye, if ye come forward, and receive from my hands 
the gifts of heaven. Woe to those who despise, or 
it may be defame, so holy a thing. For as the grace 
in my hand is great, so terribly would my vengeance 
fall upon those who, in this their day, will not con- 
cern themselves about the salvation of their souls. 
For they ought to know that, as Apostolical Inquis- 
itor, I have the power to judge and ' send to hell 
all opposers of the Holy Father. Make haste, there- 
fore, and save your souls. Otherwise it is possible 
you may never have an opportunity, for so small a 
price, to obtain forgiveness of sins and everlasting 
life. Indeed, there is no reason to hope, that, so 
long as the world stands, such loving charity of 
the Pope will reach this place. Now is the accepted 
time, now is the day of salvation. But in like man- 
ner think also of those who from the circle of your 
relations have gone before you to the other world. 


32 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Do you not hear your parents and kindred call and 
cry: ‘ Ah ! will you not have compassion on us ! for 
the hand of the Lord lies heavy upon us.’ ‘ Must 
we linger out the bitterest torments, when it is in 
your power to release us by a trifling alms ? ’ Are 
you willing to be so hard-hearted, and to have no 
pity for those who, in their life-time, did you much 
good? Surely, if you do not show pity for them, 
God also will not have compassion on you in the 
hour of death. Once more, in conclusion, therefore, 
I appeal to the consciences of you all : Seek the 
Lord, while He may be found; receive the grace 
which is offered to you; in order that you may es- 
cape the wrath of God. Amen.” 

A deep and breathless silence had brooded over 
the multitude during the delivery of these words, 
which was done with great vehemence. As soon 
now as Tetzel betook himself to the chest before 
the altar, there was a dense throng of those seek- 
ing indulgences, and who with burning tapers in their 
hands knelt at the altar and made their confession 
to Tetzel. Whereupon each, after having laid on a 
table set for the purpose, the money demanded, re- 
ceived from the hand of Father Baumhauer a Letter 
of Indulgence, beautifully printed on parchment, with 
the Papal seal affixed. In it, surrounded by lavish 
pictorial ornamentation, might be read a declaration 
of full absolution of sins, in this form: 


WITH THE VENDER OF INDULGENCES. 


33 


“ In the name of Jesus Christ and by His authority, and also 
that of the holy Apostles Peter and Paul, and of the most holy 
Father, the Pope, I absolve thee, first, from all ecclesiastical 
censures and penalties which thou mayest ever have merited; 
and further, from all sins and crimes which thou hast ever com- 
mitted, of whatever kind and however great and enormous they 
may have been; and I remit, with full indulgence, all the pun- 
ishments thou wouldst have had to endure in Purgatory. I re- 
instate thee in the enjoyment of the holy Sacrament of the Church 
and in the communion of the saints, as also in the state of inno- 
cence and purity in which thou wast by thy baptism; so that, in 
case of thy death, the gates of the place of torment shall be shut 
against thee, and the door of the Paradise of joy shall be opened 
unto thee. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
Ghost. Amen. 

“BROTHER JOHN TETZEL 

“ Signed this with his own hand .” 

Throughout the entire day the throng did not di- 
minish, and when Tetzel, late in the evening, from 
great weariness, closed the business, hundreds were 
standing with empty hands and vehemently impor- 
tuning the gift — which the monk with kind and as- 
suring words promised for the next day. 

In the inn at the sign of the Golden Ring, towards 
evening, sat the Count and his Steward by a dish of 
roast mutton which they thoroughly enjoyed. The 
gloomy cloud had disappeared from the Count’s brow, 
and he maintained a cheerful conversation with Sir 


34 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Neidhardt Faeustlin, who also rejoiced in the buoy- 
ant tone of his lord. Many things in Tetzel, it is 
true, had not been satisfactory to the Count, espe- 
cially his exceedingly boastful and ostentatious man- 
ner of speaking. He was also troubled at the de- 
meanor of the people, who, for the most part, took 
the matter of their confession very little to heart, 
and bought the Letter of Indulgence as they would 
a pound of meat from the butcher. But he had really 
performed a sincere and honest penance, and now, 
with the Church’s pledge and assurance of absolu- 
tion in his hands, his heart light, and his conscience 
in peace, he could again find enjoyment in life. 


CHAPTER IV. 


AT HOME. 

T7ROM the balcony of the ancient castle of Fuers- 
tenau, the ancestral residence of the family of 
Erbach, two female forms were looking downward 
upon the wildly romantic and fragrant valley. They 
must undoubtedly have been mother and daughter; 
for the similarity of features and of form was striking. 

In the older of the two we have before us the 
Countess Maria von Erbach, of the lineage of the 
Counts of Werthheim. See was a tall, charming, and 
estimable lady, a little past forty. Her thick, wavy, 
and shining hair encircled a face from which beamed 
a sweet and gentle disposition, and a clear intelli- 
gence which imparted to her something queenly and 
imposing. 

The other was Margaretta, the eldest daughter of 
the Countess. In her, the mother’s beauty was re- 
produced in still greater attractiveness. She was just 
at the age when the bud is opening and the flower 


36 


COUNT ERBACH. 


about to expand in the full perfection of tint and 
fragrance. Her figure was slender, graceful, and fairy- 
like; the eyes were violet-blue and expressive, under 
overhanging silken brows; the cheeks wore a soft 
blush of red upon a well-nigh transparent lily-white 
complexion; a winsome, sunshiny smile played upon 
her delicate purple lips, while her golden hair fell in 
long, smoothly braided tresses. It was a picture of 
almost more than earthly beauty. That a young ar- 
tist, who the previous year had come to the castle in 
order to paint the young lady’s portrait, had retired 
with a secret wound of the heart, subsequently pin- 
ing away in secret melancholy, because he could 
neither forget the lovely creature nor make her his 
own, was to no one a surprising occurrence. Nor 
did it cause astonishment, that almost simultaneously 
Margaretta’s hand was sought by eight different suit- 
ors, though she was still as it were but a child. The 
one by whom the prize was won, young Count Philip 
von Rieneck, was congratulated by all on his good 
fortune. These felicitations were abundantly justified: 
for in Margaretta he had found a jewel for which he 
had every reason to thank God on his bended knees. 
Far and wide extended the fame of her kindness of 
heart and generosity. All of her father’s dependents 
knew her, especially the poor, needy, and suffering; 
to whom she seemed an angel when she entered their 
humble dwellings, helping and comforting, drying up 


AT HOME. 


37 


their tears and healing their wounds. Like a sun, she 
was the light also of her parents’ home, the darling 
of all the inmates of the castle. 

Mother and daughter were standing thus upon the 
balcony of the castle, and letting their eyes wander 
far away over the rustling tops of the dark pine trees, 
along the road as it wound up and down among the 
rocks and bushes. 

“ What in the world can have happened that father 
so long delays his return home ? ” said Margaretta in 
a subdued voice. “I hope nothing evil has happened 
to him on the way.” 

“You pierce my heart with your anxiety, my dar- 
ling child,” replied the mother. “According to my 
reckoning, your father should have been home the day 
before yesterday. Yet let us not be desponding as 
well as anxious. He is in the hand of God, and at 
this very time engaged in a course in which divine 
guidance and favor must surely attend him.” 

At this moment the watchman’s horn resounded 
from the tower, and the signal betokened a welcome 
visit. From near by rang also the voices of Barbara 
and Anna, Margaretta’s younger sisters, who from 
the battlements were waving handkerchiefs in the 
direction of the mountain. 

Startled with joy the Countess and Margaretta 
turned about. “Father!” they cried, and hastened 


38 


COUNT ERBACH. 


down the stairway of the tower, in order to wel- 
come the long-desired one in the Hall. 

They had not yet reached the bottom of the 
winding steps, when from the hall a youthful voice 
was recognized. “ It is Philip,” cried Margaretta, 
blushing with joy, and hurrying past her mother, she 
threw herself in a transport of delight into the arms 
of her betrothed, as the mother reached the hall. 
Meanwhile Anna and Barbara also rushed in, and 
overwhelmed Philip with caresses, so that for some 
time the mother, not able to reach him, looked on 
smiling at the efforts of the favorite guest to dis- 
engage himself from the children’s embraces. 

“You bring joy to our house, as usual,” said the 
mother in her soft musical voice. “So a hearty 
welcome from us all. But for what reason do you 
so seldom gladden us with your visits, dearest Philip ? 
It is now almost two months that we have not seen 
your face. I have had as much as I could do to an- 
swer the tormenting questions of your betrothed, and 
to appease her anxiety about you. 

The young Count kissed the Countess mother’s 
hand caressingly, and thereupon drew his betrothed 
to his side. “ I have been very much needed by 
my father, ever since I returned from Wittenberg,” 
he said; “to whom one of his officials is giving sore 
trouble. Even to-day I can stay only a short time 
with you.” 


AT HOME. 


39 


Margaretta stroked lovingly his wavy hair, “ I 
have you again, my Philip,” she said, “and so all 
is right. I am thankful if you gave us only an hour. 
At any rate I know that my anxiety was foolish, 
that you are safe and sound, and that you love 
me. 

Meanwhile the servants had brought in the silver 
cups, for it was the time of the morning draught. 

“ But where is our George ? ” inquired Philip, when 
he saw that the place of the eldest son was vacant. 

“ Gone to meet his father,” answered Margaretta. 

“ And where is his father ? ” 

“For two days we have been expecting him back 
from Halle.” 

“From Halle?” 

“Ah, you know nothing at all about his move- 
ments, because you have been so long away from 
Fuerstenau. He has ridden with Lord Faeustlin to 
the Commissioner of Indulgences.” 

Philip raised his eyes in astonishment. 

“ He has been decidedly melancholy and dejected 
of late,” interposed the Countess Maria. “ It seemed 
as if he could have no more enjoyment, and all our 
love did not avail to brighten his countenance. At 
last he came to me one morning and said: ‘Maria, 
I must have a letter of Indulgence; I must see the 
assurance of God’s grace in black and white, in order 
that I may have peace of soul. It would not do, 


4 o 


COUNT ERBACH. 


either, to have the certificate of absolution fall into 
my hand without any trouble; but I must patiently 
acquire it for myself by a long pilgrimage and se- 
vere fasting. Therefore will I seek the distant ven- 
der whose name is known and famous far and wide/ 
He forthwith mounted his horse and rode away with 
our Steward. I wish he were safe back again.” 

Philip sat long in silence, as if lost in thought, 
with his head bent and his chin resting on his 
hand, so that the ladies were struck by it. He also 
lost the thread of conversation and spoke like one 
absorbed and absent. 

“What is the matter with you, Philip?” asked 
Margaretta. 

“ Nothing at all,” replied the Count, passing his 
hand over his brow. “A thought often strikes a 
man, which carries him away so that he forgets for 
the moment what is about him. Excuse me, dear 
friends.” 

He took part again in the conversation, and was 
soon once more the animated, playful, and enter- 
taining Philip, who, as if with magnetic power, at- 
tracted all hearts to him. With heartfelt pride and 
maternal joy, did the gaze of the Countess Maria 
rest upon her future son-in-law, who now with his 
betrothed upon his arm went down into the castle 
garden to gather strawberries. 

Margaretta had truly fallen upon a happy choice. 


AT HOME. 


41 


Among all her suitors, her unerring instinct had dis- 
covered the fairest and noblest. Count Philip sprang 
from a very ancient family in Franconia which al- 
ready in the twelfth century held a place of distinc- 
tion among the German nobility. This ancient fam- 
ily, however, at present was represented by only two 
persons. Young Philip, the only son of a widowed 
father, was the last of his lineage; and it seemed as 
if the entire strength and glory of the race was once 
more concentrated in him, and as if in him rested 
the hope of a new budding and expansion. Philip 
was a beau ideal of the splendid and knightly; tall 
and slender in person, noble and well proportioned 
in body, and a countenance which had an almost 
magical influence on every beholder. The glow of 
health and youth mantled his cheeks; his smile un- 
covered pure white teeth between his jet black mous- 
tache and beard; above which towered a majestically 
arched brow; and dark brown eyes beamed with in- 
telligence above a finely curved aquiline nose. Even 
the livid scar which ran across his brow was no dis- 
figuration to him, but served rather as an embel- 
lishment, to complete the heroic aspect of his manly 
face. Especially when mounted on his steed in steel 
armor, with the plume of sky-blue feathers and pur- 
ple sash, one could not imagine a more handsome 
and lordly knight; and if he appeared in the tour- 
nament or field of battle, it would seem as if he 


42 


COUNT ERBACH. 


could not possibly be vanquished, and that victory 
were allied by magic to his sword. But even when 
he appeared, as to-day, not as a warrior but as a cav- 
alier, in an outer garment of steel-blue, with wide 
slashed sleeves, open at the breast and showing an 
under dress of violet with silver embroidery; a broad, 
snowy-white, ruffled collar; a black-velvet baretta with 
a waving plume of white ostrich feathers upon his 
curly head; and still more unconstrained graceful- 
ness in his movements; he extorted admiration, even 
from the bitterest enemy, as a handsome and splen- 
did nobleman. 

Countess Maria making the sign of the cross be- 
hind the betrothed pair, and devoutly raising her eyes 
to heaven, whispered: “ God bless, preserve, and keep 
you.” 

Thereupon she turned and went into the kitchen 
to the servants, in order to make some new arrange- 
ments for the dinner: since for the favorite guest some 
additional and special preparation must be made. She 
was met in the door by Daniel, an old man of sev- 
enty-six years, who had served Count von Erbach 
from the days of his childhood. He was a model 
of integrity and fidelity, despite a very homely 
face deeply furrowed with marks of the small-pox 
and a still more harsh and disagreeable voice which 
sounded like the winding-up of an old fashioned 
weight-clock. 


AT HOME. 


43 


“What have you there, Daniel ?” inquired the 
Countess, surprised. 

Without changing a feature the old man replied: 
“ What is suitable,” and thereupon laid on the table 
a well grown turkey. 

Faithful Daniel ! When he saw Count Philip ride 
over the drawbridge, the first thing he did was to 
wave his hat in salutation, and the next was to 
creep into the poultry pen for a roast. 

“You good soul,” said the Countess, patting his 
wrinkled cheeks. “Where you are taking care, an- 
other may spare himself the trouble.” 

The old man smiled gently. “ I should be the 
veriest ice clod in the world, if this sun did not thaw 
me. See, my gracious lady, when it became known 
that our dear young mistress had given Count Philip 
her consent, old Daniel folded his hands and said: 
‘ To-day is salvation come to this house/” He then 
made a gesture with his hand to the Countess, as if 
to say, “You can go, I will see to everything.” 

The Countess understood the silent hint of the 
old man and followed her children into the Castle 
garden. 


CHAPTER V. 


DISTURBED PEACE. 


OWARD evening of the same day, the watch- 



man’s horn again sounded from the tower a 
blast of good omen; and Count Erbach and his Stew- 
ard, attended by George, sprang into the Castle court. 

The greeting was as jubilant, and the joy of meet- 
ing again as fervent, as if the Count were returning 
from a bloody fray, and with difficulty could he ward 
off the questions with which he was besieged until 
he had finally seated himself in the large hall at the 
long, oaken family table, and the minds of all had 
gradually become tranquil by the sight of him re- 
turned home in safety. It now appeared, from the 
particular narrative which the Count gave of his jour- 
ney, that his return was delayed by a visit which he 
made to his old friend, a companion in arms, at the 
Castle of Goseck, on the Saale. 

Countess Maria, thankful and happy, kept her eyes 
riveted on the countenance of her husband, from which 


DISTURBED PEACE. 


45 


the gloomy clouds had vanished, and listened eagerly 
with the rest to the entertaining narratives. 

Philip, however, after the first hearty greeting, 
again sat still at the table, as if lost in thought, and 
only occasionally put in a word. At first, this did 
not attract the notice of the Count. But when the 
meal was finished, and the Countess had retired with 
the children to the family room, and the two gen- 
tlemen sat alone in a corner room of the tower, by 
a mug of beer, the Count soon asked: “ What ails 
you, my dear Philip? Your eye is not so bright 
and cheerful as usual, and your lips are very spar- 
ing of words.” 

Philip made a deprecating gesture, as if the ques- 
tion were unwelcome to him, and sought to turn the 
conversation on another subject. Yet as the Count 
still pressed his inquiries, Philip, with his eye steadily 
and earnestly fixed upon him, said deliberately: “Ex- 
cuse me, very dear Count, if I should give you pain; 
for such is not my intention. I love you as I do my 
own father. But your joy, Sir Count, is my sad- 
ness: for it rests on an illusion.” 

The Count fastened upon the young man a search- 
ing look. “What is the meaning of your expres- 
sion ? Do you really think that the peace which 
now fills my soul, is a mere deception, a vain 
delusion ? ” 

Philip slowly nodded assent. “ Much disorder and 


46 


COUNT ERBACH. 


mischief is occasioned by this business of indulgences; 
and the assumptions of the venders go much beyond 
the meaning and the authority of God’s word.” 

‘‘What do you mean by that?” asked the Count 
with visible astonishment. - 

Philip sighed, and after a pause continued: “Every- 
where it is plain that these monks no longer make 
any distinction between the temporal penalties which 
the Church imposes and the everlasting punishment 
which Almighty God denounces against sin. These 
eternal retributions can no man remit, not even the 
Pope, although his power and authority is otherwise 
so great. In a word, the Pope can forgive no sin, 
this is the prerogative of God alone; he can only re- 
mit what he himself imposes. I therefore call that 
presumption and blasphemy which is preached by 
the venders of indulgences, among whom Tetzel is 
the most audacious and shameless.” 

The Count had listened to these words with growing 
uneasiness, and reddening with displeasure now broke 
out: “My son, who are you, that you should indulge 
in such lawless expressions ? If you were not my 
future son-in-law, and a young man without expe- 
rience and discretion, I should take serious notice of 
such temerity in you.” 

Over Philip’s handsome face there passed a still 
deeper shadow of sadness, and the heaving breast 
betrayed his inward emotion. “ If you call my words 


DISTURBED PEACE. 


47 


presumption and folly, dearest father, then you must 
accuse many venerable universities and reverend di- 
vines of the same. It is not I who have originated 
these views; but every now and then has the mouth 
of enlightened men protested against this papal abuse, 
which only for base and venal purposes has been al- 
lowed to come into general practice. Evil enough, 
it is true, has the papal displeasure vented itself 
against the free expression of the truth, so that now- 
adays only in a corner and in concealment is honor 
given to truth. The smoke ascending from the stake 
of Savonarola and Huss has stricken terror into the 
hearts of men; and the clanking chains of John von 
Wesel cry: ‘ Be silent ! be dumb ! unless your bones 
are to moulder in prison.' In short, what is to .be 
said when the Pope is called the vicegerent of God 
on earth ? The history of the bishops of Rome is a 
tale of error, guilt, and horror. Ought he who now 
occupies the chair of Peter to be called a bishop ? 
Can he be a Christian at all ? Has not Rome, the 
holy city, come to be a Sodom and Gomorrah ? Pil- 
grims who have visited it in good faith have no 
words to describe the sink of ungodliness and moral 
pollution in which priest and people there wallow. 
Sacred things are scoffed at in the most unblushing 
manner. A mass priest, for example, has had the 
effrontery at the altar and in the celebration, instead 
of the words of consecration, to say: Panis es, ct 


48 


COUNT ERBACH. 


panis manebis * If in the holy city, under the eyes 
of the Pope, such blasphemous mockery can take 
place, can we wonder that every where holy things 
are trodden under foot ? At Strasburg, not long 
ago, a company of youngsters carried to the altar a 
keg of wine and there held their carousal, mingling 
their cups with the singing of lewd songs. Again, 
during high mass, some noblemen appeared in the 
Cathedral with hunting dogs, and from time to time 
let fly a falcon for the diversion of the worship- 
pers. Also a man, to shorten his road, dragged a 
pig through the house of God which by its cries 
obliged the officiating priest to pause in reading the 
mass. Wherever one turns his eye, there is such 
visible disorder and ruin as plainly show the Church 
to be paralyzed, and to have no longer the inward 
vitality to protect itself against this desecration, which 
indeed it first called forth. It is the curse of her 
defection from the truth, of her silencing the word 
of God. Ah, who has tears enough in his head suffi- 
ciently to bewail all the wretchedness into which the 
sin of the Popes has plunged the Church of Christ ? 
When, oh when, shall the day of the Lord come in 
which the truth shall triumph over falsehood ? ” 
During this speech the Count had risen from his 
seat. He saw not the fire of holy zeal in the eye of 
Philip, he did not mark the deep movement of his 

* Bread thou art, and bread thou wilt remain. 


DISTURBED PEACE. 


49 


soul; he was only beside himself at the words which 
fell like hammer blows in his heart, and which sounded 
to him like the voice of a blasphemer or a madman. 
“What has got into you, Philip?” he cried with his 
eye-brows raised in astonishment. “ How has such 
a change come over you, as it were in a night ? 
Who has imbued you with such heretical notions ? 
For they could not surely have sprung from your 
own head; much as you are inclined, in the zeal of 
keen investigation, to search things to the bottom. 
Has perchance the ill-starred Ulrich von Hutten 
again come in your way? Very much against my 
wish I have observed that you had formed an asso- 
ciation with him; for the blood flows tumultuously 
in his veins, and his radical brain teems with mis- 
chievous thoughts. In his wild turbulence he could 
subvert all order and throw the work of God into 
confusion. More sharp and piercing than his sword 
is his pen, which he dips in poison and gall; and 
with the biting acid of his ridicule he is not ashamed 
to asperse even the holiest object. Who was it that 
cast abroad in the world the Epistolae Obscurorum 
Virorum ? To be sure, the writer cowardly with- 
held his name; but Hutten’s pen could be recognized 
at the first glance, at least he had a hand in the 
matter and zealously helped it forward. Besides, 
why does the man take upon him to write against 
the Pope in Rome, and all the bishops, and the 


So 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Church in general ? Truly the holy Father’s mild- 
ness is great, that he does not kindle for this her- 
etic the well deserved stake. Tell me, therefore, 
candidly, Philip, whether it was Hutten that put 
these unholy thoughts into your mind ? ” 

Philip had more than once attempted, but without 
success, to reply to the Count, who appeared not at 
all to have heard what the former had said about 
the corruption of the Church. He now shook his 
head gravely, saying: “Your suspicion, Sir Count, 
is entirely erroneous. I have, indeed, occasionally 
exchanged views with Hutten, but have never been 
his admirer or follower; for his tone of thought and 
innermost conviction are widely different from mine. 
It is true, he longs, as I do, for freedom; but his 
conception of freedom is not according to my judg- 
ment. His delight is to destroy, but not to build. 
He aims to amend the scandals of the times by ridi- 
cule; but will not take pains to heal with a loving 
hand the wounds. He wants to make the world bet- 
ter, but not himself, though for the latter he has ev- 
ery reason. Such an attempt is vain, and such a 
man is not after my heart.” 

The frown upon the Count’s brow had relaxed at 
the words, and in a more kindly tone he said, “That 
is a wise speech, my son; and I could wish that here- 
after you would keep entirely out of the way of Hut- 
ten. For there is something fascinating in the man, 


DISTURBED PEACE. 


SI 


and his poetical genius enables him to clothe his 
diabolical thoughts in the garb of an angel of light, 
in order that he may insinuate poison into the minds 
of the young and unsuspecting. But if this Hutten 
was not the instigator of your unbelief; pray tell me 
then from whom you imbibed it ? Can it be the fruit 
of your studies at Wittenberg ? ” 

Philip’s countenance brightened with animation. 
“ I bless the day when I decided to go to Witten- 
berg. It is true, that I forsook the dry and tedious 
professor of law, Henning Goede, as soon as I had 
found my way to the lecture room of Dr. Martin 
Luther. I also took leave of the Humanists, and so 
did the great mass of the students; for no one can 
compete with Luther, who has no equal in the whole 
institution. All throng to his feet; and I, too, have 
become his constant pupil, have not missed one 
of his lectures, and think of nothing any more but 
Theology.” 

“Who is this Luther you speak of?” asked the 
Count, with cool civility. “ I do not know whether 
a man of that name even exists in the world.” 

Philip’s eyes kindled with still greater brilliancy. 
“Dr. Martin Luther,” said he, “is a professor — ah, 
what am I saying ? — he is a Prophet ! His words are 
like flames of fire, which kindle every heart.” 

“ That has been the way of all heretics,” said 
Count Erbach with bitterness; “and a heretic he 


52 


COUNT ERBACH. 


seems to be, according to all that he has infused 
into you.” 

“ You call him so,” proceeded Philip with warmth, 
“ because you do not know him. Had you seen and 
heard him, you would have fallen at his feet and 
said: ‘Thou art a man of God, and as an angel 
sent from heaven.’” 

The Count raised in a deprecating way both his 
arms and crossed himself. “Now be silent; for you 
torture me with your talk. I returned home in 
peace of mind — do you think it was a delusive 
peace-? When the convalescent feels a new vital 
force in his veins, will he allow himself to be per- 
suaded that he is still sick, and that his recovery 
was a mere illusion ? ” 

Philip was silent. It gave him deep concern to 
have caused so much annoyance to the father of 
his betrothed; and he even desired to express his 
regret that he had fallen upon this conversation at 
all, when the officiating priest of Michelstadt, a small 
town in the neighborhood, was announced. He had 
been informed of the Count’s return, and wished to 
satisfy himself of the benefit derived by his penitent 
from the pilgrimage. 

The Count met him excitedly and, scarcely al- 
lowing him time for salutation, addressed him: “You 
are welcome at all times to my house, my very dear 
Speckel, but doubly so at present. Here is a young 


DISTURBED TEACE. 


53 


man whose soul is in imminent peril of losing itself 
in the dreary waste of unbelief. Tell me, are you 
familiar with the name of Martin Luther ? ” 

“ Martin Luther,” repeated the priest, meditating. 
“ I seem to have heard of him, and nothing favor- 
able. He must be a learned man, and have a smooth 
and glib tongue, with which he bears down every- 
thing. But he has wonderful notions in his head; 
and if not already a heretic, will soon be one, in 
case he continues to pervert the Scriptures as he 
has done for some years past.” 

The Count eagerly grasped the hand of his con- 
fessor : “ God bless you for this word. You have 
come hither at an opportune moment, as if sent by 
God. Philip, do you hear this? You have fallen 
into the hands of a heretic. Therefore take warn- 
ing, and forget what he has whispered in your ear. 
Consider it the devil himself who has crept to your 
side and sought to corrupt your soul. Although he 
seem to you like an angel, reflect, that Satan often 
assumes the appearance of an angel of light, to be- 
guile the weak, and also the young who have had 
no earnest experience of life and lend a willing ear 
to every novelty. May God, however, have com- 
passion on His Church and destroy the instrument 
of Satan.” 

Philip extended his hand to the Count and said 
gently: “ Let us beseech God to give us enlight- 


54 


COUNT ERBACH. 


ened eyes to discern what is the truth, and what is 
error.” 

“ Yes, God grant it,” replied the Count, in a some- 
what milder tone, and then turning to the priest said: 
“Excuse me, reverend sir, that I cannot longer enjoy 
your society at present; for my exhausted body craves 
the repose of the night.” 

The three men took a hasty leave of each 
other. 

The next morning the Count had ridden out be- 
times. On a forest height, not far from Michelstadt, 
he was having a ruined chapel rebuilt in honor of 
his patron-saint, the Holy Virgin; and he wished 
to inspect the progress which had been made in 
the work during his late journey. His absence this 
morning was quite agreeable to Philip; as he could 
now without interruption communicate to the Coun- 
tess and his betrothed what had occurred the even- 
ing before between himself and the father. He found 
both in the Kemnate, or family apartment. This was 
a social and pleasant room in which the whole family 
delighted to gather, and which the guests also en- 
joyed more thoroughly than the great saloon on 
the walls of which hung the trophies of the chase, 
arms, and equipments. It was here as quiet and 
peaceful as in a sanctuary, and a magic twilight en- 
hanced the feeling of solemnity. Six large oil paint- 
ings in dark wood frames were suspended on the 


DISTURBED PEACE. 


55 


brown wainscoted walls, from which looked down 
the pictures of saints; and a crucifix, carved in ivory, 
spread its arms in blessing- over a small prayer-altar, 
decked with two wax candles and bouquets of fresh 
flowers. In each of the two deep, ivy-clad bay win- 
dows stood a distaff of black ebony, artistically inlaid 
with mother-of-pearl. An oblong table of oak stood 
in the midst of the room, around which were placed 
fine wooden chairs with high perforated backs; and 
near to the porcelain stove, on the green tiles of 
which was represented the history of St. Elizabeth, 
was a comfortable double-seat upholstered with pur- 
ple red velvet inviting to rest. From a ceiling pan- 
elled like the walls, a lamp was suspended by a silver 
rod; and the floor of encaustic tiles was spread with 
costly lynx skins over which the inmates passed 
with noiseless step. 

Many an hour rich in social enjoyment had Philip 
already passed in this hallowed apartment. To-day 
also he hoped for a tranquillizing influence on his 
greatly excited mind, in this temple of peace. He 
had not closed his eyes during the whole night; and 
his countenance wore an anxious and troubled look. 
But instead of deriving peace of mind from this quiet 
apartment, he brought into it his own unrest; for 
the two ladies heard with alarm and distress the 
news of his discussion with the Count, and followed 
with a painful suspense Philip’s explanations, as he 


56 


COUNT ERBACH. 


now gave them in a connected view his religious con- 
victions of which he had already disclosed many 
occasional intimations. 

For a long time they found no words. The mother 
gazed in the distance like one bereft: Margaretta had 
a glistening tear in the eye. At last, with a deeply 
drawn sigh the Countess said: “ My mind is exceed- 
ingly perplexed and undecided. What shall I say ? 
My husband has always appeared to me worthy of 
reverence in his earnest piety and immovable faith. 
He accepts with unquestioning confidence all that 
the Church teaches; and in comparison with him I 
often seem to myself feeble and undevout, because 
my faith had still so manifold conflict with doubt. 
Again and again have I said wishfully to myself: 
Ah, if I could only be like him ! But when I hear 
your words, my dear Philip, it seems to me as if 
the halo of sanctity about my husband’s head faded, 
and as if nothing which the Church teaches and we 
hold sacred is according to the word of God. What 
I have often felt as a presentiment in my secret 
thought, you speak out to me in clear and undis- 
guised words; and what I timidly ventured not 
to formulate in words, lest it might be heresy and 
a suggestion of Satan, you express freely and with- 
out reserve as your profound conviction. What am 
I to do ? In whom should I put confidence ? ” 

She rose and paced the floor, wringing her hands 


DISTURBED PEACE. 


57 


in vehement distress. “What ought I to do? Alas, 
miserable is the heart of woman, to whom man’s ca- 
pacity of searching investigation and clear reason- 
ing has been denied.” 

Margaretta had folded herself closely on the breast 
of her betrothed, and as if seeking help, her tearful 
eyes were lifted imploringly to his. “ Philip, my 
trusted Philip, your speech goes through my heart 
like a two-edged sword; and yet — you surely can 
be no heretic.” 

Philip drew the maiden tenderly and lovingly to 
his breast, and stroking her heavy, shining hair, 
said: “Margaretta, you will yet learn to understand 
me, although you are at present terrified; for you 
love me, and therefore you believe in me.” 

Then turning to the mother, he continued: “I beg 
you to revolve this matter silently in your heart: I 
will return once more to Wittenberg, and hear still 
longer the man of God, in order that he may guide 
me out of the twilight into the clear light of day. It 
seems to me as if the world must yet hear of this 
man, for he is very wonderful: his intellect is so 
clear, his heart so pure, his character so great, and 
his courage so heroic.” 

“Ah, will you leave us again?” gasped Marga- 
retta. “When I see your face and hear your voice, 
I am cheerful and hopeful: but when you are gone, 
all my courage ebbs away again.” 


58 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Yet the mother nodded approvingly to Philip: 
“ Go, in God’s name, and seek to be enlightened; in 
order that from thy light a ray may fall even into 
our darkness.” 


i 


CHAPTER VI. 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 

T^NTERING the narrow Castle Street of Witten- 
berg, one might see an ancient house, many- 
angled, and ornamented with projecting windows. 
Count Philip of Rieneck was' sitting in a small 
room of this house absorbed in a book. It was one 
of the last days of October. The autumn leaves 
which several frosty nights had loosened were fall- 
ing quietly. But the sun still cast his rays warm 
and kindly over the half dead world, and enticed 
many a townsman to an excursion abroad. 

Count Philip, however, was scarcely conscious 
to-day that the sun was shining. He sat well nigh 
the whole blessed day over the book which’ a friend 
had brought him, and had even omitted his dinner 
in the engrossing interest. His eyes were fastened 
intently upon the letters as if he would devour 
them; and often would he look up from the page, 
reflecting on what he had read and digesting it slowly 


6o 


COUNT ERBACH. 


in his mind. Many times, also, he would fetch a 
deep sigh, and there would pass over his beautiful 
and manly face a gleam of intelligent satisfaction. 

The book was an Exposition of the Epistle to 
the Romans, by the Wittenberg Professor, Dr. Mar- 
tin Luther. 

Suddenly the Count sprang from his seat and 
paced the room with rapid strides, with his hand 
under his chin, and soliloquizing: “So then, we 
hold that man becomes righteous before God 
through faith in Christ, without the works of the 
law. Almighty God, I thank Thee for this instruc- 
tion. Here is the key to the fundamental and car- 
dinal errors of Rome. This is the central point about 
which is grouped the whole Papal doctrine of salva- 
tion. Every thing appears now to me in a new 
light. Now I know why I never attained to the 
true joy of existence. I have wished to build my- 
self a bridge to heaven of my own virtue; and the 
timber was decayed, the bridge gave way under my 
feet. I now see that the bridge is let down from 
above, that God’s grace meets me and says: Only 
believe, and grace lends thee aid to eternal life. 
There is only one deliverance for all flesh, namely, 
faith in Him whom God hath made unto us wis- 
dom and righteousness, sanctification and redemp- 
tion. Now, for the first time, I know how to make 
the right use of Christ, the Redeemer, which up 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


6l 


to this time I did not know; for hitherto He has 
always stood to me like an old faded image of a 
saint in a corner, and I never knew what He should 
do to help me, inasmuch as I wished to do and 
merit everything myself. Now Christ becomes to 
me a living person, and fitted to act; now He be- 
comes my personal Saviour, whose strength is made 
perfect in my weakness, and He gives me that of 
grace which hitherto I have striven in vain to ac- 
quire. How Luther knows to speak of Christ ! It 
is like an entirely new language.” 

Philip searched among the papers on his table 
till he found a slip, the copy of a letter from Luther 
to the Augustinian monk, George Spenlein, which 
had reached him through a friend. “ I cannot read 
these words often enough,” he said to himself; “and 
the oftener I read them the more I find in them. 
The great man says: ‘My dear brother, learn to 
know Christ crucified; learn, despairing of yourself, 
to say: Lord Jesus, Thou art my righteousness, and 
I am Thy sin. Thou hast taken me upon Thyself, 
and given me what is Thine; Thou hast assumed 
what Thou wast not, and given to me what I was 
not. Forbear to strive for such a purity that thou 
shalt no longer consider thyself a sinner; for Christ 
dwells only with sinners. Therefore came He down 
from heaven, where He abides with holy beings, 
in order to dwell with sinners. Meditate upon this 


62 


COUNT ERBACH. 


love, and you will derive from it a sweet comfort. 
Why should He have suffered death, if we could 
gain peace of conscience from our penances and 
good works ? Therefore only when you despair of 
yourself and your own good works, will you find 
peace in Him; for He has taken your sins upon 
Him, and made over His righteousness to you.’” 

The Count laid the letter again carefully in the 
portfolio, and stepped with upward lifted eyes to the 
window. “ Ah, how is it yet with me ! It has been 
winter with me, my past life lying stiffened in the 
snow and ice of delusion. Now it becomes spring; 
it begins to bud and sprout; now will all become 
new in me. Blessed be the day that I sought thy 
face, thou man of God, thou chosen instrument ! 
Thee also may the Almighty bless, that thy voice 
may resound through the world like the trumpet 
of God.” 

Just then the bell tolled from the tower of the 
city church. “ Luther preaches the vesper sermon,” 
said the Count to himself, and hastily sought for 
his mantle and baretta. 

At the same moment a loud uproar was heard 
below in the entry of the house. Philip recognized 
the harsh metallic voice of his landlord, the mas- 
ter turner, Tobias Trautwein, who had probably come 
home in a drunken state according to his habit. The 
Count hastened down the steep, creaking stairs, and 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


63 


found the landlord there, a billet in his hand, with his 
face like fire and his veins swelled with rage, storm- 
ing at his wife. 

“What is the matter with you, Tobias, that you 
are in such a fury ? ” inquired Philip calmly. 

The man turned abruptly and replied: “Has not 
one a right to storm and thunder when he meets 
with such injustice ? Look here, Sir Count, does it 
not stand there in black and white, that all my sins 
are remitted; and is not that the Pope’s coat of 
arms below ? Have I not also laid down my hon- 
est money for it — six groschen cash? Yet, now this 
— this — this peevish monk, this hypocritical fellow 
with the fiery eyes, has let fly at me, and thrown 
the certificate at my feet.” 

“What are you saying, Tobias? I do not clearly 
understand you,” said the Count. 

“Yes, now, to be sure,” Tobias answered, “three 
days ago I was with him at confession — when he 
said to my face: 4 Master Tobias,’ said he, ‘you are 
a sot; and besides, you are a savage to your wife. 
If you do not repent from the heart, I cannot give 
you absolution.’ Forthwith, then, in my vexation, 
I went straight to Jueterbogk, where that man Tet- 
zel has at this time a market, and bought for my- 
self a certificate of indulgence. That is a man for 
you, Sir Count. He knows how to deal with peo- 
ple. He asked me, ‘For what do you want an in- 


64 


COUNT ERBACH. 


dulgence ? ’ For drinking, I replied; and because 
lately in a spree I struck my good woman a blow 
on the head and made a bruise, so that she lost her 
strength entirely and kept her bed three days. ‘ It 
will cost six groschen,’ said Tetzel, and the busi- 
ness was finished. So I went again to the confes- 
sional, held the certificate before his nose, and asked 
if he would give me absolution now. Then he became 
more fierce than he was the first time, snatched the 
paper out of my hand, threw it on the ground 
as if it were an object of disgust which one ought 
not to take in his hands, and addressed me sternly: 
‘ If you are resolved to go to hell, my friend, go; I 
cannot prevent you. But I am not willing to go 
with you; which I should most certainly do if I 
became the minister of sin to you, by giving you 
absolution although I knew that your profession of 
repentance was a lie.’ What do you think of that, 
Sir Count ? That has never been heard since the 
world stood.” 

“Who is the monk?” Philip asked. 

“Why, who else but Luther?” blurted out mas- 
ter Tobias. “For some time already he has pur- 
sued his own way, and will not hear a word about 
Tetzel, who nevertheless sells indulgences in the 
name and with the commission of the Pope. This 
matter of indulgences is a fine thing too; and I al- 
low no one to say anything against it to me. Broth- 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


65 


er Martin, however, lets his head hang to the earth, 
and knows nothing but repentance — and again re- 
pentance — and all the time repentance. But, bad 
luck to him, such preaching of repentance must get 
him into trouble. I shall run away to my godfather, 
Zacharias Schneidewind, the sword furbisher, and to 
Peter Pflaume, the tanner, and to Elias Lambert, 
the armorer, and to others besides, who all clinch 
their fist against the black toad who croaks repent- 
ance — repentance; and then I shall hurry to the 
“ Green Pine,” where the students hold their carou- 
sals. They are also in arms against this fellow Lu- 
ther; because he opposes their drinking, quarrelling, 
and fighting, and from the pulpit denounces such 
practices in terrific words, and desires that they 
should maintain a moral and honorable deportment 
as Christian youth. There will be a good crowd of 
us, when we are all together; and then look out, my 
precious monk, for those who are against you are 
more tjian those who hang by your cowl. I shall 
run to Tetzel and accuse you to the Apostolical 
Inquisitor: heigho ! he will stop your muzzle and 
smoke your cowl for you.” 

Count Philip laid his hand firmly on the madman’s 
arm. “Moderate yourself, Master Tobias ! You are 
speaking inconsiderate words, like a drunken man. 
The wrath of man worketh not the righteousness 
of God.” 


66 


COUNT ERBACH. 


The master eyed the Count askance and dubi- 
ously. “Are you also one of those whom the sedu- 
cer has drawn into his net ? Really you are the 
last one I should have suspected of such weakness; 
for frank and clear does your eye look abroad at 
the world, as of one who investigates the reason 
of every thing, and will not allow any blockhead 
to lead him by the nose.” 

“ How do you know that Luther is a block- 
head ? ” asked the Count, in a sharp and emphatic 
tone. “His mind is enlightened to discern the truth. 
But those who cannot bear his light wherewith he 
exposes their secret wickedness — them you may call 
blockheads and owls of the night.” 

Master Tobias was on the point of an outbreak. 
But his wife pulled him anxiously by the coat and 
whispered to him: “It is our Count; be quiet.” 

This admonition and hint at the liberal rent which 
the Count of Rieneck was paying, silenced in some 
measure the wrath of Master Tobias, so that he 
spoke with more composure. . But he still insisted 
that Luther must rue it; that his enemies in Wit- 
tenberg were to go on with the matter; and that 
Tetzel must institute a process against him. 

The Count left the house and walked abroad. 
He had wished to go and hear Luther’s vesper ser- 
mon. For he did not willingly neglect one of these 
discourses, in which Luther, quite contrary to the 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


6 / 


usual custom, was explaining in order the Lord’s 
Prayer, and always to an overflowing church; al- 
though, in addition to other labors, he ascended 
the pulpit many days three, and even four, times. 
Yet, now, a good part of the time for the service 
was already elapsed; and besides, he found his mind 
in such a state of agitation that he could not com- 
mand the calmness proper for devotion. According- 
ly he wandered slowly and thoughtfully down the 
narrow street through the Elster gate and strolled 
awhile in the Speck, a small pleasure grove not far 
from the city gate. He would gladly have called 
at the “ Green Pine,” the inn situated there, to drink 
a mug of “cuckoo,” the far-famed Wittenberg beer, 
for he felt an unusual thirst. But the disorderly up- 
roar which reached his ear from the inn made him 
averse to enter it. Yet curiosity impelled him nearer 
to it. For it was notorious that here those students 
used to come together who had less to do with study 
than with drinking and carousing; and who, on that 
account, mocked at Luther in all the moods and 
tenses and domineered over the diligent and orderly 
students. Sure enough, amid the confused din of 
voices, the Count heard repeatedly the name of Lu- 
ther, and not at all in a kindly spirit. 

He returned home again, tormented with anx- 
ieties; and the whole night could find no sleep, 
Even the next day, he was unable to get the better 


68 


COUNT ERBACH. 


of a certain inquietude and anxiety; so that he made 
only a slow and unsatisfactory progress in study. 
A presentiment of evil to his beloved teacher lay like 
a stone upon his heart. 

One morning his landlady, Frau Ursula Traut- 
wein, entered his chamber in a state of excitement. 
“What is to be done, Sir Count? My husband has 
been over there in Jueterbogk with Tetzel to accuse 
Luther and report the people in the street. In Jue- 
terbogk there is a great fire burning, kindled by 
Tetzel’s hand; and the Inquisitor has proclaimed 
aloud: 'In such a fire must those be consumed 
who have opened a blasphemous mouth against the 
commands and tenets of the Holy Church.’ Sir 
Count, mark my word, this bodes no good end.” 

The Count stood awhile lost in deep reflection. 
He then seized, hastily and with decision, his cap 
and mantle and hastened, with the utmosl despatch, 
down the stairway. He turned his steps through 
the College street to the Augustinian Convent, in 
whose apartments Luther had his lodging. 

To the threefold rap of the wooden knocker on 
the outer door, the porter opened, after he had 
satisfied himself, by a peep through the little obser- 
vation window, who was outside, and admitted the 
Count into the court. Profound quiet reigned here; 
only a soft organ tone from the chapel blended with 
the voice of a priest singing mass. A stone stair- 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


69 


way, with worn steps, led to a vaulted passage 
scantily supplied with light from the small lancet 
windows by which the wall was pierced. At the 
end of the long cellar-like passage was the cell 
.which Philip sought. He knocked on the heavy 
oaken door, equiped with fancy bands of iron; but 
all was silent. "Can it be that he is not at 
home ? ” murmured Philip with concern. At a sec- 
ond rap, however, was heard a low "Come in”; and 
the Count opened the door grating on its rusty 
hinges. He entered a small, narrow cell. Even 
here the light was softened and dubious; for a sin- 
gle window, high placed, and glazed with round panes 
in lead, permitted only so much daylight to enter as 
made its way through the leafless tops of the lindens 
in the convent garden. It was a cell like all the rest, 
cold and frosty, poor and unfit for habitation, the fit 
shelter of an Augustinian mendicant monk. In the 
middle stood a rude oaken table with clumsy feet; 
in front of it an old leather-bottomed settee for 
three persons, with fancy carving on the high backs 
of the seats. Besides these there was a pine case 
of drawers with twisted serpent-like feet; an old, 
worm-eaten prayer -desk with crucifix; a copper 
lamp, an hour-glass, an earthen water-pitcher, and 
in the corner a miserable wooden bed. Such was 
the furniture of an Augustinian friar. Yet here no 
ordinary friar could be housed. The rich oil-painting 


70 


COUNT ERBACH. 


on the wall, with the monogram L. K. encircled by 
a crested serpent, a gift of the famous artist Lucas 
Kranach; the number of books and folios in hogskin 
binding on the table and on the floor; also a lute 
in the window recess; give presage of an occupant 
who is deeply interested in learning and art. 

The monk was sitting at the table in the garb of 
his order, with a woollen mantle thrown over him 
since the stove as yet gave no warmth, absorbed in 
a book; and he seemed not to hear the salutation 
of the visitor. He must have spoken the “come in” 
unconsciously. 

The Count had entered, and already repented hav- 
ing disturbed the pious man in his study. Brother Mar- 
tin suddenly turned himself toward the door. Count 
Philip confronted a pale, emaciated face, bearing the 
traces of mental toil and inward conflict, over the 
sunken cheeks of which peered large dark eyes now 
larger and brighter than usual. Luther raised him- 
self quickly from his seat and approached his visitor 
with a winning smile, at the same time grasping both 
his hands. “ Ah, it is you, my worthy Count von 
Rieneck, who visit me already at so early an hour 
in the morning. You ought to be the more welcome 
as you so seldom allow me to have the pleasure of 
your company.” 

“ The reason of that is, reverend Doctor, that I 
am ashamed to interrupt and trouble you,” replied 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


7 1 


the Count with a modest gesture. “ It is enough 
that I venture to hearken to your voice at a dis- 
tance; for I am not absent from one of your lectures 
or sermons.” 

A smile of pleasure passed over the lips of Luther. 
“ That is an unusual thing, for a nobleman to dis- 
mount from his horse and put off his armor in order 
to listen to a monk’s voice amid students. For you 
have come to Wittenberg, not to enter the service 
of the Church, but solely with a thirst for knowledge 
and truth. God grant that the way may be opened 
for the truth through the error and falsehood of the 
times.” 

The Count saw, with an expression of painful so- 
licitude, the holy animation which beamed from the 
large beautiful eyes of the monk in uttering these 
words. “ Might I announce, reverend and worthy 
Doctor, what has brought me to you at so early an 
hour ? ” 

“ Speak, without hesitation,” said Luther encour- 
agingly, and placed a chair for his guest. 

After the two had seated themselves opposite to 
each other, the Count hemmed and drew several times 
a long breath, and then began. “ I need not again 
repeat to you with what heartfelt delight I have 
hitherto listened to your sermons against the impious 
doctrine of indulgences. My soul rejoices in unison with 
you; and each word fell from your lips upon my heart 


72 


COUNT ERBACH. 


like morning dew upon the cup of the lily. In min- 
gled hope and suspense, have I learned that you ad- 
dressed a letter to the bishops of Meissen, Zeitz, 
Merseburg, and Naumburg, and even to the originator 
of this present traffic in indulgences, the Electoral 
Archbishop of Mayence and Magdeburg, entreating 
them for God’s sake to desist from the unhallowed 
business. But I am full of painful anxiety on your ac- 
count, lest animated by a holy zeal you enter on the 
good work too boldly and hastily, and meet the fate 
which once .... O, I cannot bear to think of it, 
much less to utter it. But I have intruded upon 
your lodging in order to warn you to guide your 
steps with the utmost caution, in order that the con- 
flict may end in certain victory. Be on your guard, 
Doctor; for great is the power of the Pope, and he 
can bend everything to his purposes.” 

Luther listened with a gentle smile, and then re- 
plied: “My dear friend, why do you trouble yourself 
about me, pray ? If the work is of God, it will con- 
tinue and succeed, though all hell should rage against 
it. But if it is not of God, then let it fall through 
and welcome, and me with it. Who is poor Brother 
Martin ? Surely the world will not go to pieces, if 
he should come to the grave.” 

The Count’s bosom heaved with vehement emo- 
tion. “ You ought not to speak so, reverend and 
worthy Doctor. You are an instrument in the hand 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


73 


of the Most High; and God means to accomplish 
great things through you. On that account it is not 
a matter of indifference whether you live or die.” 

Luther beheld the Count with a gentle shaking 
of the ljead. “ But what cause have you now for so 
much anxiety about Brother Martin ? Everything is 
peaceful and quiet, and there is no present exigency.” 

“ No exigency ! ” echoed the Count bending for- 
ward. “ So then you do not know what took place 
yesterday at Jueterbogk ? ” 

“ No: what is it ? ” 

“In the public square at Jueterbogk, Tetzel lighted 
the stake and uttered threats against you.” 

A slight shudder ran through Luther’s frame, and 
he stood a moment in silent reflection. Then raising 
himself to his full height, he said with a tone in which 
derision and sorrow were mingled: “Poor Tetzel! 
that’s like him. He loves to make a noise and talk. 
The wood had better been given to the poor; for the 
winter is at hand. My dear Count, be quite easy. I 
do not fear this Tetzel; for he is a miserable shallow- 
pate, a mere granny; and therefore he swaggers so 
loud, after the manner of empty barrels. But who- 
ever besides may be my adversary, I feel in my heart 
no manner of uneasiness. My defence is with God. 
If He is for me, who can be against me ? ” 

The Count was about to reply, when without a 
knock the door opened, and two men entered in haste 


74 


COUNT ERBACH. 


with anxious countenances. They were the professor 
of theology, Nicholas Amsdorf and Lucas Kranach, 
court painter to the prince Elector. 

“ Brother Martin,” said the first, crowding in to 
Luther without seeming to take any notice of Count 
von Rieneck, “ there is an evil whisper in the city, 
and a mephitic atmosphere as before a storm. Threats 
are made against you, brother: your life is in peril.” 

Lucas Kranach also grasped the hand of Luther 
while the tears stood in his eyes. “ My very dear 
Doctor, see my concern about you and take care of 
yourself; otherwise you might easily fall a victim to 
malice. If you begin the conflict, you stand alone, 
and what will be the issue ? Alas ! are not the flames 
of Jueterbogk a warning which God gives you ? ” 

Luther receded a step. His lips were closed as in 
holy scorn, his hands raised towards heaven, his eyes 
shone as with a supernatural lustre, and his ghostly 
white countenance was as it were transfigured. “ In 
the words of my friends, I hear the voice of God, 
which says to me: Arise, and confer not with flesh 
and blood. Thou hast excited the struggle, step 
boldly into the arena and delay no longer. Cursed 
is he that doeth the work of the Lord slothfully. 
Fear not, for I am with thee: be not dismayed, for 
I am thy God. I will strengthen thee; yea, I will 
help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right 
hand of My righteousness. My dear friends, you wish 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


75 


to hold me back; but in reality you press me rather 
forwards. Much too long have I lingered; and through 
your encouragement to it is now my last fetter broken. 
Let come what must come. Thou, my God, wilt be 
with me; for it is not mine own honor that I seek. 
But for Thee, and Thy dear Son, will I seize the lion 
by the beard.” 

The men stood with breathless attention, and 
ventured no further interruption to words so over- 
powering. At last, however, Lucas Kranach said 
with a subdued and tremulous voice: “ I listen to 
your words with deep emotion, my dear Martinus; 
for I feel the nearness of God and the breath of 
His Spirit. It would be a sin to wish to hold 
back a man whom God is impelling to a great 
work. One thing tell me: What is it you are med- 
itating ? For a resolution is visible in your eye, 
which seems like a fearful either — or .” 

Luther half closed his eyes and made a gesture 
with his hand: “You will know it shortly; so let 
me alone at present.” 

All day long the monk kept his cell; and even 
during the whole ensuing night his lamp glimmered 
through the half opaque windows. At his table he 
sat and wrote, and wrote, till long after midnight. 
He then threw himself upon his knees and prayed 
aloud, and wrestled with God, like Jacob, till the 
morning. More and more importunate were the en- 


;6 


COUNT ERBACH. 


treaties which ascended to the throne of Him who 
is so well pleased when men pray to Him: and his 
tone became more and more joyous and confiding 
as he already felt, even during the prayer, the pre- 
sentiment of a favorable answer. But when the first 
ray of the sun fell through the window, as a token 
of greeting from God; then rose the suppliant and 
said: “Amen! Lord, I will not leave Thee, unless 
Thou bless me. Amen.” 

At Torgau also, in the bed room of the prince 
Elector Frederick, on this same night, did the light 
burn even till morning. The Elector had had an 
exciting dream, from which he awoke, and by which 
he was so agitated that he could get no more sleep 
the whole night. In the morning he caused to be sum- 
moned his confidential counsellor and court-preacher, 
Spalatin, and said to him: “My dear Spalatin, are 
dreams mere illusions?” “Not always, gracious prince. 
Some arise from morbid or excited states of the 
body; and they are only phantoms which dupe and 
fool us. Others are sent, at times, by divine good- 
ness, to instruct and warn us.” 

The Elector shook his head in deliberation and 
said: “Then I will tell you what appeared to me in 
a dream, this night. I saw a monk who had a pen 
in his hand. With it he wrote on the Castle Church 
at Wittenberg many words in letters so large and 


WITTENBERG HAMMER BLOWS. 


77 


plain that they could be read even at Torgau. Yet 
behold the pen grew in his hand and became longer 
and longer, until it reached even to Rome and 
touched the Pope’s crown which shook and trembled 
from the thrust. After I had seen this vision, I awoke 
and sought for an interpretation, but found none. Per- 
haps now, you may know what the dream imports.” 

Spalatin had become uneasy, and the color had 
left his countenance. He was Luther’s friend; and 
a quick presentiment gave him the significance of 
the dream. Still he ventured not to intimate this 
foreboding; only shrugged his shoulders and said: 
“ My gracious prince Elector, God has not vouch- 
safed to me the gift and skill of Joseph. I think, 
however, that we should wait patiently and quietly 
until God Himself, peradventure, give the interpre- 
tation of the dream.” 

Whilst the two men were holding such discourse, 
hammer blows were sounding at Wittenberg. At 
the Castle Church stood an Augustinian monk, who 
nailed upon the door a large paper, where the pro- 
fessors of the university were accustomed to fasten 
their theses on which they proposed to hold a dis- 
cussion. Prince Elector, do you hear those hammer 
strokes ! They are God’s answer to your dream. Noble 
Prince, do you know that monk ! He is more than 
a monk; he is an apostle of the Lord; and his pen 
does reach even to Rome, and at its scratching the 


78 


COUNT ERBACH. 


man with the triple crown trembles. Prince, do you 
hear that roar ? That is the storm under which the 
earth is moved. Do you see flashes ? Those are 
sparks which shall kindle a conflagration which pur- 
ifies and cleanses the world. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE SPARKS IGNITE, 


N a moist, cloudy November morning, Count 



Eberhard of Erbach rode down from his castle, 
and turned, his horse into the path which led to the 
Chapel of St. Mary, the rebuilding of which was 
nearly completed. He had appeared on the site al- 
most every day, and with words and gifts as well 
stimulated the workmen to have the labor finished 
by the twenty-first of November; in order that on 
that day, the festival of the blessed mother, the con- 
secration might take place. It was intended to make 
the day an occasion of great rejoicing. A vast num- 
ber of pilgrims were expected. For in the first place, 
the chapel, though small, was a splendid edifice, 
brilliant with gold and silver decoration. But, in 
addition to this, the Count had been so fortunate as to 
secure for his beloved sanctuary a very precious relic, 
a lappet of the coat of St. Boniface, the apostle of 
Germany. This relic, which was preserved in a 


So 


COUNT ERBACH. 


golden casket, ruby jewelled, he had obtained, as a 
special favor, at a great price, from a Friesland 
bishop. As if God Himself were entering to dwell 
with him, the Count had brought this casket, in 
solemn procession, to his court chapel for temporary 
security; and John Speckel, the mass priest, had been 
obliged to say a special mass over it. The Count 
had been on that day in a very exalted tone of 
mind, and had prepared for his men a sumptuous 
repast. Yet this state of feeling was not of long 
duration. Since his interview with Count Philip of 
Rieneck, he had been all the time very much out of 
humor and irritable. It seemed as if Philip was right 
in saying that the peace obtained by a letter of in- 
dulgence was only a sham and' illusion. But Count 
Eberhard would not admit this to himself. He rather 
imputed the blame to Philip, who had, by his tempt- 
ing thoughts, disturbed the childlike simplicity of his 
faith. In a certain sense, this was undoubtedly 
true. The words of Philip haunted him persist- 
ently, like flies before a storm, and left him no rest. 
He was obliged to think of them day and night. 
He wished to banish them by force; but all his 
efforts were fruitless. This soured his temper, and 
even made him harsh to his family, who kept out 
of his way when they observed that he preferred 
to be alone. 

To-day, also, he came again with a clouded brow 


THE SPARKS IGNITE. 


8l 


as he rode along. The dense, humid, and chilly fog 
which shrouded the view, not only settled in a frost 
upon the Count’s beard, but sent its chill into his 
soul, so that he sank into a deeper gloom. 

Arrived in the vicinity of the chapel, he looked 
up in surprise and listened. “ What does this mean ? ” 
he muttered to himself. “ It is already eight o’clock 
and yet I hear not a stroke of a hammer.” He 
spurred his horse to a more rapid pace, although the 
road was a very steep ascent. 

As he entered the door of the chapel, he stopped 
short in amazement. There sat all his workmen 
gathered around a man who was easily recognized 
by his garb as a travelling student; and all were 
listening to him attentively as he read to them 
something from a paper. At the entrance of the 
Count the men rose in alarm and bethought them- 
selves of their labors. 

“ What are you doing there ? ” stormed the Count, 
“ and who is this stroller that is making my work- 
men forget their duty ? ” 

The master workman stepped forward with uncov- 
ered head. “ Pardon, august and worshipful Count. 
This man brings a new and unheard-of report, which 
has so taken us by surprise that we forgot our 
work.” 

“What is the nature of this report?” demanded 
the Count. 


S2 


COUNT ERBACIi. 


“Would you be so good as to ask the man him- 
self, gracious Count,” continued the workman; “for 
we are every one of us unskilled in reading.” 

Count Eberhard beckoned the traveller to him 
and repeated his question. 

The other looked the imperious speaker directly 
in the face and said: “Is it possible, noble sir, that 
you are not yet apprized of what has taken place at 
Wittenberg ? ” 

The Count was startled. “At Wittenberg? Noth- 
ing, to the present hour, has reached my ears.” 

“Indeed! The news has swept through the whole 
empire like a whirlwind; and everywhere people are 
talking of the ninety-five theses which the monk 
Martin Luther posted on the Castle Church door 
against the sale of indulgences.” 

A darker shadow passed over the Count’s brow; 
and, with an uncertain look, he fastened his eyes 
upon the sheet of paper which the traveller held in 
his hand. “What say you, fellow? Theses of the 
heretic ? ” 

The stranger shook his head dubiously, “ Do you 
take Luther for a heretic, noble Count ? Then you 
surely cannot know him. Those who are accurately 
informed about him, especially those who have seen 
his face and heard his word, esteem and venerate 
him as the man for the age, for whom many hearts 
have waited in silent longing amid the distress of 


THE SPARKS IGNITE. 


83 


the times and the low estate of the Church. That 
he is the right man for the emergency, and that we 
need wait for no other, is as clear as day; for his 
words have kindled like a fire, and two weeks are 
not yet elapsed when the ninety-five theses have sped 
through the empire, as if the angels of God them- 
selves were the messengers. Furthermore, they have 
been already translated out of Latin into German, 
so that every one may understand them.” 

The Count was visibly struggling with himself. 
It was sorely against his inclination to inquire about 
the contents of the paper. He feared to defile him- 
self if he should take the heretic’s writing into his 
hand; and yet his heart was burning in him to know 
what it could be that was setting the world in an 
uproar. Fie stood awhile in gloomy silence; then 
said curt and sharp, “ Give it to me.” His eyes swept 
over the paper which gently rustled in his hand. 
There he read: “The Reverend F"ather, Martinus 
Luther, Doctor of the Liberal Arts and of Theology, 
from a sincere and true love and special diligence 
to bring the truth to light, will discuss the follow- 
ing propositions concerning indulgences, and main- 
tain them against the Brother John Tetzel. On that 
account he begs those who cannot be present in 
person to discuss them with him, to do the same in 
writing though absent. In the name of the Lord 
Jesus Christ. Amen.” 


8 4 


COUNT ERBACH. 


" When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ says, 
4 Repent,’ He means that the whole life of His faith- 
ful servants on earth should be a constant and un- 
ceasing repentance.” 

" This word 'Repentance’ cannot be understood 
of the sacrament of penance — that is to say of con- 
fession and satisfaction — as administered by the 
priest.” 

"The Pope has no power or intention to remit 
any other penalty than that which he has imposed, 
according to his own pleasure or the canons of the 
Church.” 

44 The ecclesiastical laws of penance can be im- 
posed only on the living, and in no wise respect the 
dead.” 

"Those priests act ignorantly and wickedly who 
represent such penances to the dying for purga- 
tory.” 

44 This noxious plant — changing ecclesiastical and 
temporal penalties into the pains of purgatory — 
seems to have been sown while men slept.” 

44 The Pope remits to the souls in purgatory no 
penalties which they were under obligation to en- 
dure in this life in virtue of ecclesiastical censures.” 

44 The commissioners of indulgences are in error 
in saying that, through the indulgence of the Pope, 
man is delivered from all punishment.” 

44 Those persons preach a human invention who 


THE SPARKS IGNITE. 


85 


pretend that, as soon as the money sounds in the 
strong box, the soul escapes from purgatory.” 

“ Those who fancy themselves sure of their salva- 
tion by means of a letter of indulgence, will go to 
the devil together with those who teach them this 
doctrine.” 

Further the Count did not go. His eyes swam, 
the letters melted together in a mass, and he was 
on the point of losing his senses. In his soul raged 
a violent tempest; from his eyes flashed, as it were, 
lightning. If he had then had Luther in his power, 
he would have crushed him. 

Some time elapsed before he recovered possession 
of himself. The terrified workmen had quietly slipped 
away to their labor; but each stood motionless at 
his post and did not venture to lift a tool. 

At last the form of the Count moved. With a 
sudden jerk he tore the paper in two and hurled 
it at the feet of the stranger. “Take yourself out 
of my sight, instrument of Satan,” he shouted in a 
thundering voice; “and see well to it that you do 
not again cross my path; otherwise it might go 
badly with you.” 

The stranger vanished quickly from the place, 
with an angry and piercing look at the Count, 
and sought the distance. Thereupon the Count 
turned to the workmen: “It will not be good 
for you, if I should ever again catch you in so 


86 


COUNT ERBACH. 


disgraceful a business. Do your work; and leave 
the rest to those who have authority to minister 
the word of God.” 

He mounted his horse and rode slowly away with 
downcast eyes. Yet he did not trace his course 
towards his castle, but in the direction of Michel- 
stadt. He felt it necessary to speak with his con- 
fessor and to relieve his heart, which was well 
nigh bursting. 

Accordingly he took his way by the village of 
Steinbach, and was just about to gallop past the 
Benedictine Convent when a loud confusion of voices 
arrested his attention and prompted him to listen 
more closely. Amid the din of voices he could dis- 
tinguish the name of Luther. He tied his horse to 
an ash-tree and entered the monastery. He found 
the entire sisterhood of the institution assembled in 
the refectory. The Lady Superior was engaged in 
a warm controversy with an itinerant brother of the 
neighboring Augustinian Convent; who, at the mo- 
ment of the Count’s entrance, was asserting: “Say 
what you will, Brother Martinus has been hitherto 
the pride and ornament of our order; and his ninety- 
five theses bring to it a new increase of fame.” 

The Abbess was ashy pale and trembled in her 
whole frame. “Yes, praise him as a brother of your 
order. — Your glorying is not good, and his shame 
is the disgrace of the whole fraternity. The devil 


THE SPARKS IGNITE. 


87 


himself has suggested to him the theses; and he 
who wrote them, will have a hotter place in hell 
than all the heretics from Simon Magus down to 
these last days in which we are living. But you, 
Brother Ambrosius, take yourself from hence; in 
order that by you, as a heretic, this holy place 
may not be desecr. . 

The voice failed her from nervous exaltation, 
so that she could not complete her sentence. The 
nuns were standing with open mouth and eyes, 
and did not venture to move. As now the Ab- 
bess perceived the Count von Erbach who had en- 
tered, she hastened to him and pressed warmly his 
hand. “You have arrived in an evil hour, Sir Count, 
for a sad controversy disturbs the peace of this 
house. This Augustinian. . . 

The Count interrupted her: “ I know already 
what has happened here; for I also have learned 
of the heresy by the way. But do you, contempti- 
ble monk, trundle yourself off, and do penance.” 

These words were spoken in a tone so sharp and 
incisive, that the friar slipped through the door in 
mortal fear. The Count, also, did not tarry much 
longer, but rode forward toward Michelstadt. 

His poor saddle-horse did not know what to 
make of his master to-day. For he who was usu- 
ally so gentle and kind in his treatment of the ani- 
mal, now jerked the reins irregularly and violently 


88 


COUNT ERBACH. 


till its mouth foamed, and drove the spurs into its 
side till the blood ran. 

On the highway not far from the town, the Count 
was met by the altar priest Speckel, who called out 
to him while still at a distance, “ O, my lord Count ! 
You are coming to Michelstadt, and I was on my 
way to Fuerstenau. I am obliged to be the bearer 
of bad news to-day.” 

“ You, too, my reverend friend !” groaned the 
Count. “ Is Satan, then, everywhere on the arena 
to-day ? ” and he related to him in further conversa- 
tion what had happened to him by the way. 

“Who is the horseman that comes down the 
height yonder ? ” asked the priest, interrupting the 
Count’s narrative, “If my eyes do not deceive me, 
it is Ulric von Hutten.” 

The Count recognized the knight at once, and 
turned his horse into a by-way. “Come, let 
us avoid him; for I do not wish to meet the 
strange being. What can he be after in this region ? 
But he sweeps from place to place as restless and 
changeful as an uneasy conscience.” 

The turning aside, however, availed nothing. 
For very soon the tramp of a horse was heard 
close at hand, and a voice of salutation: “Where 
away, Sir Count ? ” 

“ Is it you, Hutten ? ” asked Count Erbach, in 
monosyllables and with an air of indifference, as if 


THE SPARKS IGNITE. 


89 


it were an every day phenomenon. “You look for 
all the world as jolly as a suitor on his way to the 
wedding.” 

Hutten spread his homely mouth in a sneering 
smile and smacked with his tongue: “Ought not 
one to be jolly when so entertaining a piece is 
brought on the stage? You yourself also laugh, I 
hope, Sir Count? You must surely know what has 
lately taken place at Wittenberg? To be sure it is 
only the quarrel of a vain monk; but, nevertheless, 
my very heart laughs in my body on account of it. 
For, in the first place, it is to be hoped that the 
monks will bite and devour one another, so that 
less of the vermin will remain on the earth. In 
the next place, however, I am thankful to Luther 
that he has taken the Pope by the ears; which also 
fulfils the aspiration of many noble spirits; for truly 
shameful is the vassalage in which the bishop of 
Rome holds our poor people bound. I forebode a 
storm as freedom and. . . .” 

“Farewell, Hutten,” said Count Eberhard, abruptly 
breaking off the poet’s stream of talk, and turning his 
horse about with a fierce wrench. His tone of feel- 
ing became more and more gloomy and irritated; 
especially as the priest, also, exasperated on ac- 
count of the habitual scorn of Hutten, broke out in 
execrations against him. During the conversation 
with Ulric von Hutten the Count’s fingers had 


9 o 


COUNT ERBACH. 


itched to draw the sword. He thirsted for a fight 
to cool the fever of his soul. 

“ What say you of the whole affair ? ” he inquired 
of his companion. 

The priest made no answer for a while, and then 
replied: “ Hutten may be right in saying, that it is 
a monks’ quarrel, arising out of envy and jealousy: 
for the Augustinians cannot sleep for the fame of 
the Dominicans which Tetzel has brought to them. 
At the same time I should never have thought that 
a few theses of a monk could have ignited such a 
fire. Even within our town everything since yes- 
terday is in a ferment, each one speaking for or 
against, as you will soon see for yourself.” 

The two now passed the town gate, and turned 
toward the market place. 

“ Do you hear it ? ” asked the priest, as they 
crossed over to the “ Blue Fox” inn. “ Already 
when I passed this street an hour ago, and listened 
under the window, I perceived the dispute and that 
it related to nothing else but Luther.” 

Just beyond the market place came another 
horseman approaching them, who on recognizing 
the Count urged his horse to a more rapid pace. 
It was Herr Curt Finkenberg, one of the Count’s 
captains, who had his seat in the village of Rehbach. 

“Are you, too, really in town to-day,” asked 
the Count meeting him. “Come with me then to 


THE SPARKS IGNITE. 


91 


our excellent confessor, whose house opens so hos- 
pitably to visitors.” 

The priest reached his hand to the captain and 
bade him welcome. His table, indeed, was frugal 
to-day; but his wine cellar, not long before supplied, 
would no doubt content his guests. It was a pity 
that the gentlemen had not come the day before, 
which was St. Martin’s day; for then he could have 
fed them sumptuously, and they might have ex- 
pected a fragrant Martin’s goose. 

After they had stabled their horses at the neigh- 
boring inn, they followed the clergyman into the 
small and modest house in the rear of the city 
church. 

The conversation turned upon the events of the 
day, and the captain also could tell of the excited 
state of the people which he had perceived on his 
way, especially among the peasants. 

“ That is a great misfortune to us just now,” ex- 
claimed Count Erbach fiercely. “ A fermentation 
has been going on in the brain of these peasants 
for a long time already, and much inflammable 
matter is accumulated. If a small spark fall into 
it, a fire will break out which we shall all regret. 
They are weary of vassalage, and would like to be 
free and independent. Here and there also, through 
the villages and forests, are roaming suspicious 
characters, not to be trusted; for they look with a 


92 


COUNT ERBACH. 


sinister eye upon any one who possesses anything of 
value. Now comes this ill-starred monk, this child 
of the devil, this arch-heretic, and hurls the match 
into the powder magazine. I hope that the Holy 
Father may act with a swift hand and crush the 
incendiary, before it is too late. Or, if the Pope is 
dilatory and looks on with indifference from a dis- 
tance, that nevertheless Archbishop Albrecht, who 
has been so bitterly denounced, may proceed against 
him without delay, and tear up the evil root and 
branch.” 

The captain ran his hand through his flowing 
beard. “Such a thing were certainly desirable; 
but I have heard some very strange things. For 
instance, that some of the clergy in high station and 
authority favor Luther and justify him; as, for ex- 
ample, the bishop of Merseburg, to whom he had 
previously written; likewise the Prior of the mon- 
astery at Steinlausig, Doctor Fleck, a distant rela- 
tive of mine, is said to have exclaimed at the sight 
of the ninety-five theses: ‘Well done! That man 
will do it ! He is coming, he is coming, whom we 
have waited for ! ’ And do you not yet know what 
has happened in Wurzburg?” 

The Count and the priest bent eagerly forward and 
listened with open mouth for the new information. 

“You know, I suppose, the Bishop Lorenz?” 
said Finkenberg. 


THE SPARKS IGNITE. 


93 


“ I know him well,” was the answer. “ He is a 
refined gentleman, with a lofty and noble tone of 
feeling.” 

“ He is, indeed,” continued the Captain. “ But 
all the clergy shake the head dubiously in regard 
to him; inasmuch as he is entirely changed for some 
time past. He has suddenly removed the Abbot 
Bernhard of Wuerzburg from his office, after he had 
earnestly advised him in private. Also his lady 
friend, Gertrude von Lauterbach, has fallen into dis- 
favor, and been obliged to leave the palace in dis- 
grace. It is said that the bishop sits much alone, 
absorbed in meditation for hours together. No one 
was able to discover any cause for all this, till at 
last it came to light, that one of Luther’s writings 
was lying on his table. Also, day before yesterday, 
he made his appearance in the Dominican Convent, 
after he had learned that in that place a fierce out- 
cry of the monks had broken out against Luther, 
and with severe words enjoined quiet. No one, he 
said, ought to condemn another as a heretic before 
the fact was demonstrated by proofs from Holy 
Scripture.” 

The Count wrung his hands in despair. What 
will this come to, if even the dignitaries of the 
Church make themselves associates of heretics ? 
Yet' I should never have looked for such a spirit in 
Bishop Lorenz. It is to me as if the earth must 


94 


COUNT ERBACH. 


begin to tremble, and the last day to be at hand. 
What think you, my very dear Speckel ? You say 
not a single word.” 

“ What could I say, ” answered the other, start- 
ing up from his sunken posture. “My soul is full 
of sadness.” 

At the moment a great commotion was audible 
in the direction of the market-place. The men 
hastened to the window, where they saw a dense 
group of men pouring out of the “Blue Fox” inn. 
They pulled one another and struck out with cud- 
gels, stones also were flying away over their heads. 

“ See there how David Eisenhart, the shoemaker, 
stirs up and inflames,” blustered out the priest. 
“ He is the ringleader. For a long time I have 
known him as a bad Christian, who plays truant to 
the mass and the confessional, and at home fills his 
shelves with all sorts of books forbidden by the 
Church, and reviles the holy Church, saying that 
she is Babylon and the Pope Antichrist. On that 
account I can easily imagine what such a row sig- 
nifies. With his associates, of which there are not 
a few, he has contended for Luther in the tavern, 
and the passions have broken out on one another 
until it came to actual blows.” 

“ There must be an end to that,” cried the Count 
in a towering passion. “ Finkenberg, we will make 
for the crowd.” 


THE SPARKS IGNITE. 


95 


He tore the hesitating Captain away with him, 
hastened to their horses, and in a few moments the 
two knights sprang into the melee with drawn 
swords. At a thundering call of the Count, a sud- 
den quiet took place. Then a crowd gathered 
around the horsemen and cried to them: ‘‘Help! 
Sir Count, they are out of their senses.” 

The Captain was aiming to raise his arm with 
the sword, when a stone flying close past the Count 
struck the other in the~face, so that he tottered and 
let his arm fall. He was hit directly in the face, 
which caused first a copious effusion of blood and 
then a considerable swelling. A cry of vengeance 
arose in the multitude, by which the Count’s voice 
was drowned. Soon, however, they dragged a man 
by force into his presence; and the Burgomaster of 
Michelstadt, with uncovered head, addressed him: 
“ Noble Sir Count, not one of your own subjects 
did this deed; but this foreigner, who had pre- 
viously excited the minds of the people in the inn.” 

The Count recognized in the culprit the vagrant 
whom he had driven some hours before out of the 
Chapel of St. Mary. “ So, fellow, you have crossed 
my path again after all,” said the Count to him in 
a terrific voice. “The consequences will be your 
own; for it was no empty threat which I made to 
you. To the tower with him.” 

The multitude now rushed with vindictive spirit 


96 


COUNT ERBACH. 


upon the vagrant, and would have beaten him to 
death had not the city officials interfered and 
shielded the offender from violence. 

Herr Finkenberg had his wounded eye dressed 
and bandaged at the parsonage; and soon after the 
two horsemen rode away to the city. Neither spoke 
a single word: they had so much in their hearts to 
agitate and trouble them, and struggled to quiet 
the inward commotion. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


STILL ANOTHER FIRE. 

A S Count Eberhard already beheld at a distance 
x the battlements of his castle he met, at a 
cross way, a young man on horseback, in whom he 
soon recognized his eldest son. 

“Is that you, George ? ” he called out to him. 
“Where do you come from? ,, 

“I have been to accompany Philip a little way, 
my dear father,” answered the youth. “ I wish you 
had gotten home an hour sooner. Philip would have 
liked very much to have seen and spoken with you.” 

“Could he not have waited for me?” asked the 
father with an altered tone. 

“ No. He said he only wanted to see how we 
all were and whether we had already heard of the 
great event which is moving the whole empire. He 
also told us a great deal about Wittenberg, and left 
with us a little book which he wished us to read 
carefully and think about.” 


98 


COUNT ERBACH. 


“ Yes?” 

“Is the building finished, father?” 

“ Yes.” 

“May I ride with you?” 

“No.” 

George looked at his father, surprised and per- 
plexed at the curt and rough answers. After the 
lapse of a few minutes, however, he asked, “What 
can that smoke be which is rising from Chapel Hill?” 

“What do you mean, boy?” 

“Just now, as I rode up the hill, I saw a dense 
smoke.” 

“ It must be the kiln of some charcoal burner. 
But be quiet, George, and ride behind me.” 

The son obeyed; but his face wore an unusual 
expression. “ How strange to-day father . . . .” 

Just then, from the watch tower of the Castle 
of Fuerstenau, resounded three times three blasts 
of the horn — short and sharp. 

“What is that?” exclaimed the Count. “That 
horn gives an alarm of fire. What were you saying, 
George ? That you had seen a smoke ? ” 

“Yes, father.” 

“And on Chapel Hill?” 

“Yes, father.” 

“Ride up to the Castle and summon the men.” 

Whereupon he spurred his own horse, and rode 
with the speed of the wind towards the chapel. 


STILL ANOTHER FIRE. 


99 


He had not gone far when he met the master 
workman coming toward him, pale and agitated. 
‘‘Sir Count . . . and could get out nothing more. 

“Fire in the chapel?” asked the Count breathless. 

The master workman nodded in silence, and looked 
as if crushed to the ground. 

The Count rushed onward with desperation. It 
was not long before he could smell the burning; 
and then, having reached an open view, the appal- 
ling sight burst upon him ! His chapel — his beauti- 
ful chapel — the delight of his eyes and the pride of 
his heart — a prey to the flames. Human strength 
was powerless against the fury of the element. The 
flames had enveloped the timbers laid only yester- 
day, and were leaping fiercely from rafter to rafter. 

The Count was beside himself. He ventured no 
further up the hill. He could not bear the ghastly 
sight from near at hand. He remained long where 
he was, and the tears streamed from his eyes. “ Is, 
then, everything against me to-day ! ” he groaned 
bitterly. “ Did I rise from my bed this morning 
only to experience one evil after another ? Thank 
God, however, that the reliquary is safe. God be 
praised that the flames did not break out two weeks 
later.” 

At last he turned his horse and rode slowly 
homeward. On the way his castle servants met 
him with apparatus for extinguishing fire. Nod- 


IOO 


COUNT ERBACH. 


ding to them he said: “You come too late. Goon, 
however, and see that, at least, no harm is done 
to the walls.” 

Up in the castle court, his family were waiting 
for him uneasy and troubled. They wanted to speak 
to him in soft and gentle words; but they were ter- 
rified at his appearance, and the words died on their 
lips. 

“Hu! father!” said the little Elizabeth, and lifted 
her hands in a deprecating gesture. 

The father paid no attention to the childlike re- 
proach, and said gloomily, “ Leave me, let no one 
come near me to-day.” 

The Countess with the little new-born Valentine 
on her arm, put the children gently back and hung 
caressingly on the arm of her husband. “Not even 
you, Maria,” said the Count disengaging himself, 
and strode past the court away to the house. 

In the hall the aged Daniel met him : “ Sir 
Count . . . .” and the words stuck in his mouth at 
a closer look in his lord’s face; and shaking his 
head ominously the old man watched the Count, 
who passed by him without a word and with heavy, 
clanking steps. 

It was a sad and lonely meal, which the mother 
was obliged to take with her children in the even- 
ing. For the Count had bolted himself in his cham- 
ber and refused food. The family sat with an op- 


STILL ANOTHER FIRE. 


101 


pressed heart at table. Even the little ones spoke 
only by stealth with each other; as they saw the 
mother’s countenance so full of sorrow. 

Later in the evening, the Countess was sitting 
with her eldest daughter Margaretta in the family 
room, her hands unemployed. How suddenly, in 
human life, do joy and grief often exchange with 
each other. It was as if Philip had taken joy away 
with him from the castle. 

“Ah! my darling child,” sighed the mother, “there 
is a great weight upon my heart. It throbs with an- 
guish and inquietude. I have a gloomy foreboding 
of the future; as if the conflict which the Wittenberg 
monk has begun with the Pope will be also brought 
into our house. Philip is animated with joy and hope 
for Luther and his cause; as if to-morrow the light 
of truth will shine clear and bright over the whole 
empire. But I fear, that before the light can shine, 
the fire must burn and consume; and in this combus- 
tion many an individual will be devoured. I think of 
father with fear and sorrow. What would he say if 
he should find in our possession the little book which 
Philip brought with him ? I have perused some 
pages in it, and my soul could cry out for joy at 
the words which seem written as with a pen from 
heaven. But a secret anguish weighs down my soul 
that it cannot rejoice; the pang on account of father, 
the thought that I have anything secret from him — 


102 


COUNT ERBACH. 


that presses upon my heart like a stone, and my con- 
science says, May a wife at all deceive and impose 
upon her husband? For some time past the heart- 
felt confidence between him and me is impaired, that 
is, since Philip threw the brand into his soul; and 
several times have I conceived the purpose of speak- 
ing with him frankly, of telling him my whole heart, 
how it is preyed upon by doubts in regard to the 
teaching of the Church, and instinctively perceives 
in Luther a witness of the truth. Yet I have never 
been able to find courage for the effort. But I can 
bear such a weight no longer: to-morrow I am re- 
solved to speak with him.” 

Margaretta’s breast heaved like a storm-lashed sea. 
Her cheeks were deathly pale, and tears were glisten- 
ing in her eyes. She was undergoing a heavy con- 
flict; for her bodeful mind saw in the distance a great 
trial, arising like a dark storm-cloud out of the col- 
lision between her father and her betrothed. She saw 
herself placed between two conflicting duties. On the 
one side stood her father who said to her, “ Thou shalt 
honor thy father and thy mother”; on the other side 
was her destined husband who beckoned to her, “Come 
to me; for to me you belong, to me you have be- 
trothed yourself; and a woman shall leave father and 
mother in order to cleave unto her husband.” But 
was there, then, no hope that the father and the 
bridegroom could be reconciled and united in one 


STILL ANOTHER FIRE. 


103 


faith ? Ah, she had so long wrestled in fervent prayer 
that God would lead their hearts to one another; but 
where was any result of her entreaties ? More firmly 
than ever had Philip to-day declared himself obliged 
to remain true to Luther; with more enthusiasm than 
ever before had he spoken of the man who was now 
matured to a hero, and whose word should make all 
new. But the father, on the other hand, did he seem 
as if his prejudice against Luther had vanished ? Alas ! 
had he not, on the contrary, spoken with words even 
more bitter of the Wittenberg arch-heretic, and con- 
firmed himself in a scornful obstinacy which made 
him inaccessible to reason or to information which 
might disabuse his mind of misconception ? Had not 
John Speckel, his confessor and spiritual adviser, come 
of late much oftener to the castle and sat with the 
Count in private conversations ? Had not the Count 
this very day returned home savage and moody ? 
The cause of such an angry and sullen mood could 
not be merely the burning of the chapel. He had 
undoubtedly learned on the way what, as Philip had 
reported, was moving the minds of men in all the 
cities and villages; he had assuredly seen with his 
own eyes, that the so-called heretic is regarded by 
many, not at all as a heretic, but as a servant of 
the Lord. Such thoughts preyed on Margaretta’s soul 
like torture; so that at first she did not know whether 
to concur in the purpose of her mother, or to dissuade 


104 


COUNT ERBACH. 


her from it. At last, however, her native courage 
gained the victory. She completely overcame her 
fears and hesitation, and fell upon her mother’s neck: 
“ Go, my darling mother, to father and tell him all, 
come what may. God will take care of the result; 
for He is with those who love the truth.” 

Countess Maria felt herself lifted up and strength- 
ened by the decision of her daughter, and breathed 
more freely and hopefully. “You are my dear child: 
you are my brave maiden: I always knew that your 
heart is firm when it is a question of going in the 
path of duty, even if it demand a sacrifice. Now let 
us read together the book which Philip gave us: per- 
haps from it may go out a power to enlighten and 
strengthen us.” 

The two sat till midnight over Luther’s “Discourse 
on Absolution and Grace,” a further expansion and 
illustration of his ninety-five theses, which Luther 
had published together with these. They read the 
book through slowly and thoughtfully at one sit- 
ting; for it held them enchained as with a fascina- 
tion; and as they finally closed it, the Countess said 
with tear-bedimmed eyes: “Thanks, Philip, a thou- 
sand thanks. It is a precious gift, more precious 
than gold and jewels. Truly, if this Luther is not 
a man of God and a prophet of the truth, then must 
he be a devil transformed into an angel of light. Oh ! 
now I comprehend how Philip cleaves to the man 


STILL ANOTHER FIRE. 


105 


with such enthusiastic reverence and devotion, that 
he says he could lay down his life for him. In my 
soul it becomes day. I feel that I am obliged to . 
break away from and unlearn my whole view of a 
religious life; for it is all falling to pieces in my 
hands. If only father would read this little book* 

I am confident that his state of mind would then of 
necessity undergo a change.” 

“But will he read it?” asked Margaretta softly. 

The Countess mother folded her hands and lifted 
her eyes with fervor towards heaven, saying: “Lord, 
have mercy on him and on us.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

NEW CLOUDS. 

morning, as the sun emerged with a pale 
lustre from behind the pines, Count Eberhard 
of Erbach was sitting in his room at a table, on which 
was lying an open book, written with his own hand. 
Despite all the mental agitation of the previous day, 
he had enjoyed a profound and undisturbed sleep; 
and a sound, unbroken sleep has a beneficial effect 
upon mind and body alike. The hardness had van- 
ished from his features, his eyes were restful, and 
about his mouth played a gentle expression of sad- 
ness. He could not himself explain this sudden rev- 
olution, this calm after the storm, this gentleness of 
tone after the harshness of yesterday, with which he 
had repelled from him even his family. 

He turned the leaves of the book, and his eyes 
wandered over its pages with occasional nods of his 
head denoting his satisfaction. In this book was re- 
corded, in large and firm characters, all that he had 
done from his youth up for his soul’s health; and this 


NEW CLOUDS. 


107 


was not a little. The volume contained a hundred 
pages; and of these more than half were filled. There 
stood recorded a goodly array of paternosters, ave 
marias, and rosaries; masses paid for, alms bestowed 
on the poor, offerings to church objects, penances and 
castigations, pilgrimages and processions, foundations 
in churches and convents, dedications to the saints, 
and especially to the blessed Virgin, whom he, fol- 
lowing the example of his ancestors, had chosen as 
his patroness and guardian. 

“ My account stands well,” he murmured to him- 
self when he had perused the last page. “ I do not 
come to God with empty hands. I have done what 

I could Or, should it not yet suffice ? Should 

something be still wanting to my salvation ? O ! who 
will tell me this ? Who will give me certainty — in- 
fallible certainty ? Holy Virgin, Mother of God, if 
God requires from me anything further, tell it me; 
I will do it willingly. Tell me especially, whether 
I could do anything for the glory of God and the 
welfare of the Church against the detestable heretic. 
Even should I be required, for such an object, to 
make a sacrifice, I will bring it; for I know from the 
mouth of the priest that such a meritorious act will 
be highly esteemed in heaven, and will amply cover 
whatever is wanting in the good works of a man for 
his salvation. 

The Count was interrupted in these meditations 


108 COUNT ERBACH. 

by a step in the vestibule; and immediately after 
his wife entered in a light and airy morning dress, 
which displayed to advantage the exquisite grace 
of her symmetrical figure. With a hearty morning 
salutation, she advanced to her spouse, and extended 
to him her small, delicate, lily-white hand. 

“ I was just about to come to you,” answered 
the Count, “ and you come to me. I wanted to 
crave pardon from you, that I was so rough and 
stern toward you and the children, yesterday.” 

The Countess felt an inward thrill of delight; and, 
full of hope, she seated herself beside her husband 
on the high-backed, leather-cushioned double-settee. 
“Your words, dearest husband, take from my heart 
a weight of anxiety. For it has pressed heavily up- 
on my spirit for some time past, that your manner 
towards your family was not as formerly. Was not 
Castle Fuerstenau, once the home of domestic hap- 
piness and the sweetest concord ? Was not the in- 
variable expression of our guests: ‘It is good to be 
here ? ’ Now a November frost has fallen upon the 
abode of peace and love. Now Count Eberhard of 
Erbach withdraws gloomy and morose from the cir- 
cle in which before he found so much delight and 
was wont to refresh himself with the opening charms 
of his offspring and to renew his youth in the com- 
panionship of the young. Now the merry laughter 
of the children is hushed. For there is a deep stm- 


NEW CLOUDS. 


109 


sibility in the child’s breast; and the gloom of its 
parents throws a shadow also upon the joy of a 
child. O my husband, what can your wife and your 
children have done to you that you should treat 
them so ? ” 

The Count drew his wife to him, with all the signs 
of deep emotion; and, with a countenance abashed 
and averted, said: “ Maria, you reproach me, and I 
hear it patiently, inasmuch as my conscience accuses 
me for having suffered the innocent to feel the ef- 
fects of my ill-humor. For it is not you that have 
awakened in me the evil spirit which, like a goblin, 
haunts me day and night, and darkens my life so 
that I avoid intercourse with men. This, however, 
may well afford some excuse for me. You would 
surely judge me with less rigor if you knew the dis- 
tress and burden of my heart.” 

Countess Maria interrupted him: “ Not unknown 
to me is the cause of your trouble, husband dearest 
to my heart; and I even came up to you now that I 
might speak with you a quiet word about it, which 
really ought to have been done sooner. Here is the 
secret. You are so incensed against Philip and take 
pains not to speak of him, because he is not in ex- 
act accord with you in religion, and because you 
think him an associate of a heretic.” 

“ And so he is, too,” said the Count impetuously, 
whose brows had already contracted again. 


no 


COUNT ERBACH. 


“ Preserve your composure, my husband, and hear 
me patiently to the end,” said the Countess Maria 
gently, at the same time laying her hand on his 
arm. “It is written: 4 Try the spirks, whether they 
are of God.’ Have you proved before condemning ? 
Reflect a moment. Our Philip does not belong to 
those dissolute fellows who, in the wantonness of 
youth and license of the flesh, attack sacred things; 
but from his youth up he has had a grave and ear- 
nest disposition, and there has been no stricter Chris- 
tian, no truer son of the Church than he, as even 
the confessor of Count Rieneck testifies. Not blind- 
ly has he rushed into fellowship with Luther; but 
with steadfast persistence has he proved the man 
before he sought his friendship and companionship. 
Now, indeed, with the deepest reverence and con- 
fidence he adheres to him; and it must surely be 
the false speech and calumny of enemies which de- 
nounces Doctor Luther as a heretic. If a man like 
Count Philip of Rieneck is numbered among Lu- 
ther’s friends, then Luther himself cannot be an un- 
believer and heretic.” 

The Count rose from his seat impatient. The gen- 
tle movement which had come over him again sub- 
sided; and his tone was bitter when he answered: 
“ Maria, Maria ! has the heretic found an advocate 
in you, too ? Listen to me. The /very thing which 
has most of all aggravated my displeasure is, that 


NEW CLOUDS. 


Ill 


Philip has infected you and Margaretta with his un- 
belief, and brought you over to his side, when you 
ought, by right, to stand by your husband and father. 
Who is Philip ? A stripling of some twenty years. 
The blood flows hot in the veins of youth; and an 
easy game has the seducer with a judgment unripe 
and a defective experience of life. But I am a ma- 
ture man; and think you that I have not proved the 
spirits ? In earnest and persistent inquiry have I 
thought over the subject, many a blessed night, 
finding no sleep; and always again has that ap- 
proved itself to me as the truth, which the Church 
teaches and the Pope commands. But do I stand 
alone in my judgment? You will observe that all 
true Christians are one with me; while those who 
glorify the Wittenberg monk are freethinkers and 
the rabble who preach revolution and aim to sub- 
vert all order. To them this man Luther is very 
acceptable; since they have long been waiting for 
some one to arise and place himself at the head of 
the movement. It is the devil’s seed which this Lu- 
ther is sowing; and woe betide us if the same spring 
up. We shall weep and lament. Think of the only 
possible result, if the peasants become furious and 
break their chains. God’s servant, therefore, is every 
one who lends his aid to strangle the devil’s brood 
in its birth.” 

The Countess forced herself to suppress the tumult 


1 12 


COUNT ERBACH. 


in her heart, and said with studied composure: “Ah, 
my dearest husband, let it not vex or weary you 
if I say again, ‘Try the spirits, whether they are 
of God.’ Through whom have you knowledge of 
Luther ? Not from his own writings; for then you 
could not speak of him as you do. It is from the 
mouth of his enemies alone that you derive your 
impression. Come and see whether this man is an 
instrument of Satan, or whether God the Lord 
speaks by his mouth. This little book Philip left 
behind with us yesterday, that we might know for 
ourselves whether or not he has sufficient ground 
and reason for his veneration of Luther.” 

Therewith she drew from her bosom Luther’s lit- 
tle book on Absolution and Grace and reached it 
to her husband. 

With a gesture of abhorrence the latter retreated 
a step and held both his hands before him in the 
attitude of refusal. He was about to reply, when 
the aged Daniel thrust his gray head in at the door 
and announced the confessor. 

“ Let him come in forthwith,” commanded the 
Count. “ God sends this man to me that he may 
be my stay and helper against my own wife, who is 
not ashamed, behind her husband’s back, to stain her 
hand and soul with heretical books. Alas, that it 
should ever have come to this with us.” 

A heavy sigh escaped the Countess, and her lips 


NEW CLOUDS. 


113 

quivered with anger and repugnance. The last re- 
mark of the Count had entirely escaped her, oc- 
cupied as she was with the thought of the visit 
announced, which was to her painful and unwelcome 
beyond measure. Now her last hope of coming to 
a harmonious understanding with her husband on 
the subject of her anxieties was extinct; for she 
well knew the unbounded influence of this man over 
the Count. She had therefore never been able to 
feel any liking for him. Her high sense of honor 
and rectitude felt a natural antipathy to the crafty 
indirection of the monk, his unsteady and suspicious 
look, the eel-like smoothness of his words, and the 
honeyed sweetness of his voice. Of late he had 
become the object of her complete and strong aver- 
sion; since more frequently than ever he had come 
up to the Castle and sat much with the Count in 
private conversation. It was but too plain to her, 
what the subject of those interviews must be. For, 
as her husband, since the dispute with Philip, had 
been a different man to his family, morosely with- 
drawing himself from them, and speaking unkindly 
to them; there could be no doubt that this change 
was due to the constant agitation of the Confessor. 

As the Count observed the repugnance of his 
wife to the announced visit, he said in a tone of 
which the severity and emphasis were not adapted 
to conceal a certain misgiving and embarrassment: 


COUNT ERBACH. 


1 14 

“For what reason do you feel this strange antipa- 
thy to Father Speckel ? It is painful to me to see 
that my wife shuns with distrust one to whom an 
unreserved confidence attracts me.” 

The Countess was about to make some reply when 
the door opened noiselessly and the obese form of 
the friar entered panting asthmatically. He was un- 
able from exhaustion to utter a single word; and 
with gestures of salutation wiped the sweat from his 
highly colored face with the sleeve of his cowl, at 
the same time casting a sidelong glance of suspicion 
at the Countess. 

Whilst she withdrew silently to a window recess, 
the Count subserviently led the monk gasping for 
breath to a seat; and after friendly salutations asked: 
“ What is the reason of this early visit and unusual 
haste ? Tidings of weighty import I surely read in 
your countenance.” 

With another quick and furtive glance at the 
Countess, the friar got out in broken syllables : 
“ Vengeance — follows — swift — upon — the heretic.” 

“What say you?” exclaimed the Count, eagerly 
addressing the priest, with an ill-concealed expres- 
sion of delight and surprise. Meanwhile the Coun- 
tess grew deathly pale and held her hand upon her 
heart in breathless suspense. 

With an appearance of inward satisfaction the 
priest continued; “The axe — is already — laid — to 


NEW CLOUDS. 


115 

the root — of the tree. From Jueterbogk comes — 
the news — that Tetzel — laying aside — the sale of 
indulgences — will assume — with all his energy — his 
office — of Apostolical Inquisitor. Already has he 
pressed the matter urgently upon the conscience 
of the Archbishop Albrecht, and kindled his wrath 
against the apostate. In the meantime he has got 
possession of the ninty-five theses, together with the 
other writings of Luther, and burnt them at the stake. 
Such an example has wrought a speedy effect on all 
the faithful, and called forth much emulation. Also 
the prior at the convent of Hoechst, that valiant 
man and zealous defender of the Holy Church, in- 
tends this evening, in order to strike terror into the 
enemies of the faith and also to encourage the faith- 
ful, to hold an inquisition. This is what I have come 
in haste to inform you of. Should you desire to wit- 
ness this spectacle, noble Count, remember that the 
pile will be lighted at early twilight.” 

The Countess breathed more freely. She had ap- 
prehended something worse for Luther. Already had 
her anguish foreboded the Pope’s ban, or even the as- 
sassin’s dagger at his heart. 

Without was raging a violent storm, which shook 
open the window at which Maria was standing. 
While exerting herself to close it again, Luther’s 
book fell from her hand. 

The priest, whose lynx-eyes had for some time 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Il6 

peered behind him in curious and furtive glances, 
could now read the title. He sprang forward tow- 
ard the Countess and, with affected politeness, sought 
to take up the book; in which, however, the Countess 
anticipated him. 

The priest’s eyes snapped and his mouth spread 
into a broad grin. “ Aye, aye, what do my eyes see, 
my lady Countess ? Do you pollute your pure hands 
with such un . . . . ? ” 

He did not finish the word; for a piercing and 
imperious look of the Countess suppressed the last 
syllable on his lips, and he retreated abashed. Still 
he belonged not exactly to the timid natures. He 
soon recovered his self-possession, and in a some- 
what changed and obsequious tone continued: “ Ex- 
cuse my hasty speech, worthy lady Countess, which 
was prompted by my zeal for the Lord. I did not 
intend to wound your feelings, and far from me be 
the suspicion that you could have any fellowship 
with a child of Satan. No doubt you procured the 
book only for the purpose of being able to know 
the heretic from his own words*, and the more pro- 
foundly to abhor him. A convenient opportunity, 
therefore, presents itself to visibly demonstrate your 
abhorrence, by handing over to me the heretical fab- 
rication to be consigned this very evening to the 
flames.” 

The Countess raised herself up to her full dignity 


NEW CLOUDS. 


ii 7 

and advanced two steps nearer to the priest, who 
shrunk back with awe. Countess Maria appeared ter- 
rible in her righteous displeasure and moral indig- 
nation. Her beautiful eyes, which usually beamed 
forth as tender and mild as two small golden stars, 
now glowed like two burning coals; and her voice, 
at other times clear and sweet as a little silver 
bell, rang now like a trumpet tone as she said to 
the friar: “Awa y from me! I am able to be my 
own counsellor, and may very well dispense with 
your service.” Thereupon she glided, majestic as a 
queen, through the door. The friar turned deathly 
pale, and was unable to speak a word; even the 
Count was astounded and knew not whither to turn 
his eyes. He had never before seen his wife thus. 

Outside, in the dimly lighted passage, stood the 
Countess, her hands pressed against her heaving 
bosom. She was frightened at herself. What had 
she done? To what words had she permitted her 
anger to hurry her ! Alas, was not her last ray of 
hope extinguished ? Her eyes wandered hither and 
thither, unsteady and troubled; till at last they were 
directed upward and acquired an expression wholly 
different — that of heavenly repose. “ Lord, I thank 
Thee,” she prayed, “that Thou hast filled a feeble 
woman with Thy strength and holy courage. Leave 
not Thine hand-maid henceforward, for I see heavy 
days at hand.” 


1 18 COUNT ERBACH. 

She made her way to the Kemnate, or ladies’ 
chamber, where Margaretta waited for her in a state 
of painful suspense. The poor maiden soon knew all 
that had passed; and the two sat in sad and palpi- 
tating silence, listening for the footsteps of the Count, 
whose approach they apprehended each moment. Yet 
they were kept in their agonizing suspense two full 
hours. Then first they saw the priest’s clumsy figure 
shuffling itself across the castle court, and at the 
same moment also the Count stood before them. 

He looked very pale, his eyebrows were sternly 
knit together, and his lips were firmly compressed. 

The Countess let her eyes fall to the ground, 
Margaretta clung silently to her mother as if to shield 
herself, and an awkward silence ensued. The Count 
seemed to expect an address, perhaps also a request 
for pardon, from his wife, that she had forgotten due 
reverence for a consecrated priest. When neither one 
nor the other followed, his look became still more 
cloudy; and turning to Margaretta he said: “ I am 
your father and the one who has legitimate authority 
over you; although for some time past you have 
little heeded the parent who has ever loved you, 
and with a true father’s care has kept your best 
interest in view. I say then to you: Your soul’s 
health is in peril, if you remain closely allied to one 
who has departed from the truth of God and become 
an apostate. Hear, then, Margaretta, what is about 


NEW CLOUDS. 


II 9 


to take place. At this moment a messenger is sad- 
dling his horse in order to convey to Count Philip 
of Rieneck my will: He must renounce either the 
heretic or his betrothed .” 

In the Kemnate resounded a piteous and heart- 
rending cry: “ My father!” and like one crushed, 
Margaretta made a tottering effort to reach the re- 
morseless man. But the door had already closed 
behind him, and rapid hoof-strokes were heard from 
the court below, which fell like hammer-blows on 
the heart of the damsel, who, robbed of her affianced 
husband, must now weep out her life in loneliness. 






CHAPTER X. 


AN INQUISITOR’S PROCESS. 

TC'ROM the blue-brown breastbone of the St. Mar- 
tin’s goose, an early and severe winter had 
been prognosticated. It did actually set in according 
to the prediction. For it was still in the first half 
of November, and the ground was already frozen 
hard as a bone, and standing water stiffened to ice. 
To-day also a yet thicker snow fell from the clouds, 
and a more cutting wind from the north-east was 
angrily tossing the tree-tops. Everywhere the forest 
groaned, and here and there a dry limb dropped with 
a crash to the ground. The forest birds sought pro- 
tection in the thick branches; but were frequently 
obliged to forsake their precarious shelter and pro- 
tect themselves against the storm in flight. More- 
over, the wolves were howling and the red deer 
rushing affrighted through the crackling brushwood. 
It was a storm into which, as the saying is, one 
could not have the heart to drive a dog. 


AN INQUISITOR'S PROCESS. 


121 


Old Daniel, burying his hands in his pockets, with 
a dubious shake of the head, looked from the house 
steps at his master as the latter was exerting himself 
to mount the impatient and stamping horse, and with 
anxious countenance asked: “ Will you risk it to-day, 
my gracious lord ? ” But he received no answer, at 
least none from the Count. The horse, however, by 
his snorting and coughing did answer, that on such 
a day the Count might surely find something a little 
better and more desirable to do than riding out. 

To the convent Hoechst it was a good long stretch 
of road, hard on to four hours if one rode briskly. 
The Count, however, consumed full six hours to-day; 
since he was obliged, several times during the ride, 
to halt in the forest for rest and to let his wearied 
horse take breath. So that he did not reach his des- 
tination until the dusk of the evening was setting in. 
He came in the very nick of time; for just then the 
pile of fagots had been completed, about which a 
dense crowd of people were assembled, chiefly peas- 
ants from the places around and a few burghers from 
Neustadt. The lay brothers of the convent had no 
little trouble to get the materials of the pile ignited. 
For the thickly whirling snow-flakes fell hissing upon 
the kindling fire; also a sudden gust of wind sev- 
eral times extinguished the torches, as though it 
were unwilling to suffer Dr. Luther’s books to be 
burned. 


122 


COUNT ERBACH. 


At last, however, the work was accomplished; and 
now rang out the convent' bells whose tones, broken 
by the storm, floated as it were moaning and wail- 
ing in the atmosphere. The gates of the monastery 
opened, and poured forth a large dusky troop of monks 
and nuns, their heads enveloped in cowls, and crosses, 
and banners in their hands, slowly moving like a fun- 
eral procession to the singing of a Latin choral song. 
In the midst of the procession was carried along, by 
two executioners’ servants, the skin of a cow. On 
the same lay a bundle strapped together with red 
and white cords, together with a gigantic effigy of 
straw, with a red scroll about the neck, on which 
was written in bold and legible characters: MARTINUS 
Luther. In order to make these objects conspicu- 
ously visible to the gaping crowd, twelve cloister ser- 
vants apparelled as devils walked on both sides, with 
flaming pitch torches in their hands, which with their 
lurid flickering light intensified the spectral sight, and 
with their stifling smoke oppressed the lungs of the 
bystanders. The monks and nuns were obliged to 
exert their lungs to the utmost in order to over- 
power with their singing the howling of the storm; 
and this struggle of human defiance with the fury of 
the elements produced an impression of awe. 

At last appeared also the Superior of the convent, 
with two abbots from the neighborhood, and a bishop 
who in his altar vestments came forward mounted 


AN INQUISITOR’S PROCESS. 


123 


on a horse and placed himself at the head of the 
procession. 

After the procession had reached the pile of fag- 
ots and arranged themselves about the same in a 
circle, the bundle was lifted from the cow-skin with 
pitchforks, and, amid numerous crossings, was cast 
into the flames. In like manner the effigy was thrown 
in; which, however, was too long for the pile, so that 
the head and feet projected on the two sides. 

A psalm was now chanted in a monotonous and 
melancholy tune. “O Lord God of hosts, the God 
of Israel, awake to visit all the heathen: be not mer- 
ciful to any wicked transgressors. Selah. For the 
sin of their mouth, and the words of their lips, let 
them be taken in their pride, and for cursing and 
lying which they speak. Consume them without mer- 
cy, consume them that they may not be; and let them 
know that God is ruler in Jacob, and unto the ends 
of the earth. Selah.” 

This song was of course in Latin — the priesthood 
and the monks were always something better than 
ordinary people; and they must accordingly have also 
a peculiar language. 

After the singing was ended, the Superior ap- 
proached the pile, made the sign of the cross on his 
forehead and breast, and cried with a strong voice: 
“ Consume, ye flames, consume the work of Satan, 
that nothing thereof remain but dust and ashes. Just 


124 


COUNT ERBACH. 


as the heretic’s likeness here burns away in earthly 
fire, may also his soul burn without redemption in 
everlasting fire. Awake, ye who sleep; and be alarmed, 
all ye enemies of God; that this may not be your doom 
also. But you, who have come from a distance to wit- 
ness this judgment, go hence and publish to all the 
world that God is not mocked, and that He suffers 
not the honor of His vicar to be assailed.” 

The monks and nuns raised a fearful howl of anath- 
ema, while the rest of the people chimed in with fran- 
tic pleasure; the flames meanwhile curling and crack- 
ling were doing their work of destruction 

“Aye, aye, are you also here, noble Sir Count?” 
cried the Superior after a while, when he got sight 
of Erbach. “ Will you go with us into the convent ? 
For it is not possible for you to ride back to Fuers- 
tenau to-night. It is a diabolical storm and uproar 
in nature, as if God were saying an Amen to what 
is doing here.” 

The Count thankfully accepted the invitation, and 
had his lodging for the night in the convent, after 
he had been well cared for out of the kitchen and 
cellar. 

The next morning he awoke amid a great uproar 
and commotion. He drew on his clothes hastily, and 
inquired of a nun whom he met running in great con- 
sternation, what was the matter? From her he got 
an excited answer: “ A trick, a daring and rascally 


AN INQUISITOR’S PROCESS. 


125 


trick has been perpetrated ! The effigy, to be sure, 
has been burned to ashes, as was proper, but not 
the books. They had been tied up too carefully, so 
that the flames could not get at them at all. ,f 

“ So these are lying still uninjured,” said the 
Count, abruptly breaking in on her tale and his 
eyes strained eagerly. “Alas! such a thing is very 
unfortunate. It will be a triumph to the enemies. 
They will say: See there! You cannot destroy Lu- 
ther’s word and work. A fire must be kindled anew 
with all speed, and the bundle untied before it is 
thrown in.” 

The nun lifted her hands with a gesture of de- 
spair. “ It is too late for that. Some thief has been 
at the pile over night, and has removed the bundle, 
so that not the smallest trace of it can be discovered.” 

At this moment the Superior came up the cross 
passage, with hasty step, pale and agitated in his 
whole frame. “ Have you already been informed of 
what has happened ? ” he asked of the Count. The 
latter nodded to him in silence and with a puzzled 
look. 

“This is a bad piece of business,” groaned the 
Superior. “ It will only bring damage and prejudice 
on the good cause which we were aiming to benefit.” 

“ Did you immediately send out runners to find 
and seize the thief?” inquired the Count. 

The Superior, with lively gesticulation, replied: 


126 


COUNT ERBACH. 


“Yes, indeed, they have been sent in all directions 
to search; yet I have small hope from that step, for 
one who could play so daring a trick may be safely 
considered a cunning and cautious fellow.” There- 
upon the Superior rushed wildly onward throwing 
about his arms in the vehemence of his emotion. 

The ground burned under the Count’s feet, and 
he soon had his horse saddled. 

It was a beautiful morning. The sun shone lus- 
trously on the fresh fallen snow, and a flock of 
jackdaws whirled in merry circles in the serene air. 
How great the change from one day to the next, in 
nature and in the feelings of the Count ! The bad 
weather of yesterday was not able to make the least 
impression upon him; for his soul was in a tone of 
devout and joyous elevation. But to-day the sun- 
shine pains his eyes; for his heart is writhing within 
in anger and wrath. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE LAST OF HIS LINE. 

TUST where the Franconian Saale tumbles into 
** the Main, and not far from Gemuenden, in the 
Spessarts Mountains, towered majestic and threaten- 
ing Castle Rieneck. It was an ancient and venerable 
pile, over whose forest of pinnacles and turrets the 
storm of four hundred years had roared and passed 
away. With a powerful sceptre had the Counts of 
Rieneck ruled an ample territory, of which this castle 
was the centre, and won for themselves respect and 
consideration among the German noble families. 
Now, however, in the year 1517, the sun was set- 
ting, and the line was dying out. Even so mighty 
and illustrious a lineage as that of Rieneck could 
not escape the universal law of bloom and decay. 
The spacious halls of their ancestral castle were 
empty, in which through centuries the joyous voices 
of children and the silver goblets of men had rung 
in unison. At present only two survived as bearers 


128 


COUNT ERBACH. 


of the proud name: Count Dietrich and his son 
Philip; and of these two the first was lying on his 
last couch, his already clammy hand buried in that 
of his son. 

“ It avails nothing,” said the aged man in a feeble 
voice, “to defy fate and to banish death from my 
thoughts by delusive hopes. He is near, and will 
soon reach out his hand after me. I do not deny, 
my son, that the separation is hard to me. For I 
had earnestly besought God that I might survive 
until the day when, in .the loneliness of Rieneck, a 
daughter might make her entrance at the side of my 
son, like a morning ray of hope that our waning race 
was about to revive again. God’s inscrutable coun- 
sel has denied me this wish of my heart. I depart 
without having embraced one grandchild. Yet not 
altogether without consolation must I be gathered 
to my fathers in the tomb; since it has been granted 
me to lay my hand in blessing upon the head of 
my son’s betrothed. Yes, God bless your chosen 
bride, who is dear to me and highly valued as a 
daughter, a model of virgin beauty and of pious 
sentiment. God bless you both with His choicest 
gifts and richest benediction — you whom He gra- 
ciously permits to see better times than your fathers 
saw. My dimming eyes perceive the blush which 
reddens the morning and heralds a new day; my 
spirit detaching itself from the earth presages morn- 


THE LAST OF HIS LINE. 


129 


in g fragrance after a long gloomy night. I see every- 
where the germination and springing; I hear a move- 
ment among the dry bones; I see the old crumbling 
and a new life waking from the ruins; I hear a song 
like that of the nightingale, before which the Pope 
trembles and the monks turn pale; but I see the 
people stand and listen to the new melody, and ap- 
plaud the singer. I have not seen the man face to 
face; I know of him only what you, my son, have told 
me; but he now stands there before my view, quite 
distinct and visible. What a man he is ! How his 
form towers ! How his eyes beam ! How he holds 
aloft the Bible, as if all the world should see it and 
read it ! I see a vast crowd thronging to hear his dis- 
course, who gaze upon him in love and reverence. 
Is it a phantom ? Do my eyes deceive me ? No, no, 
this can be no illusion. My senses are weak, but 
my eyes see clearly — that is Luther , whom the good- 
ness of God shows to me before I die. My son, he 
will accomplish it from whose side shall flow streams 
of living water.” 

The dying man, during this speech, had raised him- 
self up with wonderful strength; his eyes beamed with 
a supernatural and, as it were, prophetic lustre; and 
Philip felt in his soul the awe and solemnity of eter- 
nity, as though the powers of the world to come 
were moving about him. It is usually a great and 
solemn moment when soul and body are parting, 


130 


COUNT ERBACH. 


when time and eternity meet and touch; and here 
at this time especially, when to the spirit in the mo- 
ment of release from the bounds of the flesh was 
vouchsafed a glimpse of the mysterious future, and 
the invisible stood unveiled as to a superhuman 
vision. 

Philip did not venture to move. He held his fa- 
ther’s chilled hand firmly in his own, and fixed his 
gaze as if spellbound upon the eyes in which the 
lustre of a transfiguration was slowly fading, as the 
blush in the evening sky when the sun is sinking 
behind the hills. The voice, too, which had raised 
itself to astonishing power, sank again; and in a 
scarcely audible whisper the Count said: “Lay me 
back, my Philip; I am very tired. Yet do not leave 
me, but remain, that you may pray for me.” 

In the front hall steps became audible; and a 
servant — old Jonathan — entered softly and announced 
a messenger from Fuerstenau just arrived. Philip 
started up in alarm, and gave directions to intro- 
duce the man immediately. He met him in the 
adjoining apartment and received from him, with 
his own hand, a letter. At the first glimpse of the 
handwriting Philip shuddered. “From the Count 
himself?” A presentiment of evil oppressed his heart 
and well nigh deprived him of breath. Scarcely had 
he re-entered the sick chamber and taken a hasty 
glance at the letter, when the paper fell from his 


THE LAST OF HIS LINE. 131 

hand and a loud groan from him awakened the slum- 
bering father. 

“ What has happened, my son ? ” asked the dying 
parent. 

“ Nothing, my father,” replied Philip, carefully 
striving to regain his composure. But the old man 
saw plainly that there was something, and something, 
too, very serious which could so unman his vigorous 
son. “Tell me the truth, my Philip, and conceal 
nothing from me,” said the aged man again. “ Oth- 
erwise I cannot die in peace.” 

His eyes were fastened so importunately upon his 
son, that the latter could hesitate no longer. “ Alas ! 
Father, our sun is going down. The jewel of my life 
is to be torn from me without pity. Here Marga- 
retta’s father writes to me in short, cold words as 
follows: ‘If you wish to be my son, Philip, then 
act worthy of your father, and turn from the way 
of error to the truth. Either you must give up the 
heretic or your bride. You must not, however, pre- 
sume to cross the threshold of my house, until, in 
your heart changed and turned from the evil way, 
you penitently seek my forgiveness. To this may 
God help you by His grace.” 

In the bed there was a deep and heavy sigh. The 
old man’s hand moved to his breast, his eyes closed, 
and his heart became still. 


132 


COUNT ERBACH. 


This was too much for even a powerful soul like 
that of Philip von Rieneck. He sank as one crushed 
into his chair, his senses left him, and a beneficial 
loss of consciousness released him from this hour 
of inexpressible sorrow. 

Yet the respite was brief; and on awaking from 
his stupefaction, his wretchedness lay with double 
weight upon his soul. In one hour bereaved of his 
father and of his bride, how was he to bear it ? 

Long did he pace the wide and empty halls in 
aimless conflict; and they seemed now more spa- 
cious and desolate than ever before. At length one 
of the servants reminded him that the messenger 
from Fuerstenau was still waiting below. Philip 
went to his room, took out a sheet of paper, and 
wrote with an unsteady hand: 

“My worthy Sir Count: 

“ Am I then to be bereaved at once of two pre- 
cious beings ? At the very moment your messen- 
ger brought to me the incredible news that you are 
resolved to break a tie which only death ought to 
sever, my beloved father departed out of the land 
of the living. I am not just now in a state either 
to make a sudden reply to your letter, or at all to 
give utterance to the deep sorrow of my heart. Only 
this one thing is herewith communicated, that I ex- 
pect you at the obsequies which will take place three 
days hence at Castle Rieneck.” 


THE LAST OF HIS LINE. 


133 


The messenger was dismissed with instruction to 
ride home in haste, in order that the Count might 
receive the invitation in season to be present at the 
funeral. 


Amid the illumination of four and twenty wax 
candles, and under the shadow of lofty cypress trees, 
stood the sarcophagus in the great hall of Castle 
Rieneck. Choir boys swung the censer of incense 
around it, while on an altar erected behind it two 
priests muttered the mass. Outside, in the court, 
thronged a dense multitude of people, subjects of the 
Count, many of whose eyes were filled with tears; 
and not of the women only, for the Count Dietrich 
had been to them an upright lord who gave to each 
one his own and cared for his dependents like a 
father. 

In the back part of the hall had assembled a num- 
ber of counts and knights, who were standing still 
and silent with uncovered head. One whom Philip 
had expected with the most sorrowful longing had 
not appeared. In his place, Sir Neidhart Faeust- 
lin had arrived about two hours before, in order to 
give to the deceased the escort of honor. Yet in the 
confusion of the funeral arrangements and the re- 
ception of guests, it had not been possible for Philip 
to learn the reasons why Count von Erbach remained 
absent; and even after the deposition in the family 


134 


COUNT ERBACH. 


vault, there was likewise no opportunity for inquiry 
since the funeral cups lasted until far into the night, 
so that not until next morning, after the guests all 
separated, did Count Philip seek out the Burgvogt 
of Count von Erbach, take him into a quiet apart- 
ment, and bolt the door. 

“Excuse me, worthy Sir Faeustlin,” began Philip, 
“that I still detain you. For I have something 
important to speak with you about, and which you 
will easily anticipate; since, as the confidential friend 
of Count von Erbach, you must have information of 
that which lies nearest my heart. Tell me, then, 
in the first place, frankly, for what reason did not 
the Count your master appear in his own person to 
render the fitting respect to Count Dietrich von 
Rieneck ? ” 

The Burgvogt cleared his throat in embarrassment; 
and it was easy to see that it was hard for him to 
speak. For he also had a warm and true affection 
for Philip, and heartily sympathized with him in his 
trouble. At last he said in a broken way: “ If you 
really did hope that Count von Erbach would set 
foot in your house, you very little understand his pe- 
culiar disposition. It gives me pain to be obliged to 
speak it. But his anger towards you is in full heat; 
especially since you brought to his house the little 
book of Luther, whereby he believes his dwelling 
profaned. I have really tried every means to calm 


THE LAST OF HIS LINE. 


135 


the tumult of his mind and to mollify his displeasure. 
Yet he became rough in his manner to me as he 
never was before; so that I was frightened and held 
my peace. You doubtless know also how his whole 
soul, in pious zeal, is devoted to the tenets and pre- 
cepts of the Church. No one dares oppose him on 
this subject: and if any one do so unwittingly, though 
the Count is certainly in other respects a most 
courteous gentleman, he becomes a consuming fire 
to all about him. Even his own family are now 
sitting in painful humiliation and dread, grieving 
over the destruction of domestic peace and from 
seeing his countenance changed toward his own 
household. The confessor John Speckel, who al- 
ways had a powerful influence over the Count, 
shows himself now more frequently in the Castle. 
It was this man, too, that incited the Count to 
write that wretched letter to you.” 

Philip paced the room with long and hasty strides, 
his hands cramped behind his back, and his head 
downcast to the earth. He made not a word of 
reply. 

After a while the Vogt approached him with a 
feeling of sympathy, and laying his hand upon his 
shoulder said: “ Sir Count, what then do you mean 
to do ? Will you abandon little Margaretta ? ” 

Philip made a sudden start and colored; a cry of 
anguish escaped his lips; and his breast heaved with 


COUNT ERBACH. 


136 

a deep groan. “Herr Vogt,” he exclaimed with a 
wild energy, “ in that case my sun goes down and 
it becomes utter night. What is life to me without 
Margaretta? A desert with nothing but death all 
around me. I am like a flower placed in the shade, 
which can no more see and feel the sun. It has no 
color, no fragrance;' it dies a lingering death. Not 
until I knew Margaretta did I know what life is. The 
birds then sang more delightfully for me, the flowers 
had a sweeter perfume, the sun shone brighter, men 
were much dearer to me, my heart was jubilant and 
leaping with joy, as though heaven bending to earth 
had entered my inmost breast. Margaretta, de- 
light of my eyes, star of my life, you who, like 
a saint, have ennobled and purified my heart, so that 
in nearness to you, even in fancy, I am incapable of 
any unworthy thought; must I let you go ? With- 
out you must I sorrow in these dreary and lonely 
halls ? Lord God in heaven, Thou knowest my love; 
for of Thee it was first poured into my heart. Thou 
also knowest that without this love I cannot live.” 

The Vogt had listened with inward satisfaction 
and cheering hope. “Compose yourself, noble Herr 
Count,” he said with warmth and tenderness, grasp- 
ing both of Philip’s hands in hiS. “ You must never, 
by any means, be deprived of the jewel. You must 
live and be happy. There is really one way . . . .” 

Count Philip tore himself loose as if he had been 


THE LAST OF HIS LINE. 


137 


bitten by a serpent. “ O, to what do you advise me, 
Faeustlin ! You would fain heal my heart, but you 
would deeply wound my conscience. Ought I to 
sacrifice the truth ? Should I belie my deepest, ho- 
liest convictions ? With the sting of an accusing con- 
science must I seek happiness in Margaretta’s arms ? 
To fall away from the truth of God which one has 
known and received into the heart; to deny, betray, 
and trample under foot the Lord Jesus Christ — is 
not this that fearful sin which has no forgiveness, 
either in this world or in that which is to come ? 
If I should even appear thus before Margaretta, an 
apostate, a betrayer, under the curse of God; would 
Margaretta herself accept me ? No, I can see her, 
as she is terrified at me, turns her face away from 
me, and says: ‘Away from me! you are Philip no 
longer!’ — Herr Vogt, what do you demand? In 
your words I hear the voice of the tempter ! Lu- 
ther, Luther, I see you in holy indignation, a frown 
upon your brow and your hand lifted in menace, and 
in my ears resound your words of thunder: ‘Philip, 
is this your loyalty ? Is this your zeal for the truth 
of God ? Look at me: I offer up my all for the cause 
of the Lord, my body and life I give joyfully to Him; 
and you 

The Vogt shook mournfully his gray head. “I 
honor the tender feeling of your conscience, Herr 
Count; but do you know, then, with infallible cer- 


138 


COUNT ERBACH. 


tainty, whether your conviction of the faith is really 
founded in the truth ? Is there not such a thing as 
an erring conscience ? If you swear by Luther, you 
swear only by a man; and where is the man who is 
not liable to some error ? ” 

The Count’s cheeks, at first as white as the chalk 
on the wall, now colored with scarlet. “ What do 
you mean, Faeustlin ? In your discourse I perceive 
clearly that you understand Luther not even at a 
distance. What you suggest would give Luther pain, 
awaken all his wrath, — that any one should swear by 
him, or build upon the man Luther. For it is not 
his own honor that he seeks, but the honor of God^ 
not his own wisdom that he urges, but all his efforts 
and struggles are aimed at the one object of brings 
ing forth the word of God again from the rubbish oi 
human opinion and error. He points every one who 
comes to him, away beyond himself to Christ as the 
source of divine wisdom, and says: Search for your- 
self, and see whether it is so. If the popes and their 
adherents had not overloaded and concealed the true 
source of knowledge and grace, Luther might have 
had rest and would not have needed to expose his 
precious life to the jaws of his adversaries.” 

“ I will not debate with you at length on these 
matters, my gracious lord,” said the Vogt, “ more 
especially as I perceive from the fire of your dis- 
course that I should never after all bring you to a 


THE LAST OF HIS LINE. 


139 


different opinion. But with sorrow and reluctance do 
I abandon the effort. For the dear little Margaretta 
is waiting in feverish anxiety and suspense for my re- 
turn; and I am afraid to appear before her eyes with 
the terrible message that Count Philip has no pity 
for her distress.” 

Again the glow vanished from Philip’s cheeks, and 
his face became pale and rigid as that of one dead. 
He had no longer control of himself and fell into the 
arms of the Vogt with the piteous cry: “ My dear 
Faeustlin, take pity upon me, and do not lacerate 
my wounds. Speak to me another word, which may 
comfort me. Oh is there in the whole wide world a 
more unhappy man than Count Philip von Rieneck ? ” 

The Vogt stroked in a fatherly way the hair 
of the young man. “ Then become happy, dearest, 
noblest Sir Count. Your fate, and that of your be- 
trothed, lies in your own hand. Speak only one 
word: 4 Good-bye, Luther’ — and the gates of Fuers- 
tenau and the arms of Margaretta are open to you 
at once.” 

Count Philip wrung his hands and smote upon his 
forehead. He sank upon a sofa as in despair and 
groaned: “I cannot do it ! O God, Thou art my 
witness and knowest how I mean it— I cannot .” 

These last words sounded like a knell: and two 
great tears ran down the cheeks of the Vogt, who 
was not by nature susceptible of tender emotion. He 


140 


COUNT ERBACH. 


made another appeal to the Count and threw his 
whole soul into his words. Yet the Count remained 
silent. With an anguished look the Vogt fixed his 
eyes long on the apparently lifeless form lying there, 
and then turned slowly to the door; yet once again 
regretfully looking back: “Ah me! what an unblest 
messenger I am compelled to be ! You could be 
happy; but you have not been willing.” 

Count Philip heard nothing more; for his conscious- 
ness had vanished. 

When he revived from his swoon, his ear caught 
from below the tramp of a horse. It was the de- 
parting Vogt of Fuerstenau, behind whom even then 
the drawbridge was closing. Philip hurriedly opened 
the window and called after him, but it was too late. 

Then his eyes turned from the distant view up- 
ward, and he betook himself to Him who has a heart 
for all human distress, and whose counsel fully reveals 
itself only when the counsel of man can do nothing 
more. He stood long at the open window and prayed; 
and the higher his soul arose above the earth, the 
lighter became his woe, the calmer his anguish; until 
in the nightly sky of his trouble arose gently and si- 
lently one peaceful star — the star of Hope. 


CHAPTER XII. 

A CRUSHED AND TORN HEART. 

HAT kind of news do you bring, my dear 



Faeustlin?” asked Count Erbach in the 


rack of suspense and eager expectation, as the re- 
turned Vogt entered his room. 

“There has been a sharp and severe conflict, my 
lord,” replied the old man; “and I was not able to 
refrain from tears when I saw the young man’s 
distress.” 

“Out with it at once, Faeustlin; what was his de- 
cision ? ” urged the Count impatiently. 

The Vogt bent his head toward the earth and 
said: “This was the import of his reply — ‘My heart 
is breaking within me. My conscience, however, 
has the superior right. I cannot.’ This was his 
last word.” 

The Count stamped the floor with his foot wildly, 
and clenched his hands convulsively. He had not 
expected this conclusion. After the letter was sent 


142 


COUNT ERBACH. 


to Philip, he was himself frightened, and a change 
came over him. His anger was aroused against the 
priest by whom he had been goaded on to the meas- 
ure. Yet he had quieted himself again in the hope 
that the letter would bring about the change in 
Philip at which he aimed. Now it had turned out so 
differently, the Count shook with rage and displeas- 
ure. “The madman ! ” he cried in a fierce voice, 
and struck a thundering blow on the table. Then 
he remained silent and sank into a gloomy brooding. 

“Does she know it yet?” he asked after a con- 
siderable time, without looking at the Vogt. 

“Yes, my lord,” answered the latter in a grave 
tone. “ Her eyes were the first that spied me at a 
distance. Sir Count, what will be the end of this ? 
I foresee a great sorrow gathering like a dark cloud 
upon the castle hill.” 

“ I could not do otherwise,” cried the Count, work- 
ing himself into a certain feeling of obstinate deter- 
mination. I have acted in the fear of God, and the 
hand of God will be with me. He forsakes not those 
who fear Him and contend for His honor. I should 
have made myself guilty of heresy, if I had given my 
child in marriage to a heretic. Margaretta will com- 
pose herself and acquiesce in the inevitable; and after 
the first storm of grief has subsided, will find that 
her father has acted wisely. Besides, what happi- 
ness could bloom for her at the side of an unbe- 


A CRUSHED AND TORN HEART. 


143 


liever and apostate ? But I will be the first to 
comfort her and hereafter always speak kindly with 
her. Where is she ? ” 

“ In the Kemnate, sitting with her gracious lady- 
ship, your wife.” 

The Count extended his hand to the Vogt. “ Ac- 
cept my warmest thanks, my dear and faithful ma£,” 
he said in a voice softening with emotion, and then 
disappeared through the door, leaving the Vogt to 
his gloomy and oppressive thoughts. 

Arrived at the Kemnate, he laid his hand upon 
the door-bolt; but a shiver came over him and he 
dared not open it; for loud and piteous moans of 
sorrow reached his ear from the Kemnate, and he 
distinctly perceived the words of his child: “Ye 
mountains, fall upon me; ye hills, cover me ! What 
can life be to me now ? Look here, my precious 
mother ! Where my heart was, is an empty and 
desolate place. The heart is gone. I feel the blood 
creep dull and weary in n \y veins; and my head, 
my poor head, O woe ! my senses are about to 
vanish! Philip, was that your final word, ‘I cannot?’ 
Then it is my death-knell — and alas, yours too. I 
feel it, I know it, that your heart also is broken, 
that your life, too, will slowly wither away. You 
could not have spoken otherwise. You are a man. 
You are a hero, who bravely makes the heart with 
its love an offering to his conscience. Grandly do 


144 


COUNT ERBACH. 


you stand before me, as a saint; as a saint, O as a 
saint will I always think of you, and pray God to 
give me strength to become like you. For deep, 
deep do I feel the chasm between me and you. You 
are so great and I so small; my heart creeps in the 
dust like a worm, and can never rise upward.” 

•The Countess made some reply, which the Count 
could not understand; and after it he perceived again 
his daughter’s voice: “ Ah, mother, dear to my heart, 
how tenderly I feel myself pillowed in your love. 
What a solace to the hunted roe to find on your 
heart a place of rest and a real understanding of 
its distress. I have no one to whom I could confide 
my suffering, or who could be my comforter, no one 
but you alone.” 

Now the Count pressed the fastening with decision 
and energy, and the door sprang open. “What do 
you say, my child?” he asked on entering, in a 
subdued tone and with a forced smile. “Have you 
not also a father, who could comfort you and quiet 
your heart ? ” 

Terror-stricken and deathly pale, the two women 
knew not whither to turn their eyes. Margaretta’s 
fingers grasped convulsively at her waist, and the 
Countess made an attempt to rise from her seat, 
but sank back again motionless. 

A long silence ensued. The Count felt a strange 
oppressiveness about his heart; the sight of his child’s 


A CRUSHED AND TORN HEART. I45 

pale cheeks and eyes red and swollen with weeping 
caused him a pang of regret; and yet he felt as it 
were a sense of injury at her silence. At last he 
said: “ Have you no answer to your father’s consol- 
ing word, Margaretta ? To be sure you are yet a 
child. • You know not a man’s thought. You under- 
stand not how I brought about such a separation 
only in true fatherly care for my child. Listen to 
me, Margaretta ! In lamentable blindness has this 
Philip misconstrued my purpose. I aimed to rescue 
him from the bonds of error, by making him see with 
alarm the consequences thereof. He ought to have 
acknowledged and repented of the mischief he had 
done with his unbelief. Certainly it was my confi- 
dent hope and expectation, that he would come and 
fall penitently at my feet, saying: * Father, I have 
sinned and fallen into error — I repent and solicit for 
the second time, from your hand, my bride.’ But 
what does the ill-starred fellow do ? He disdains the 
hand which beckons to him for his safety, and sacri- 
fices to his wilful and stubborn delusion the being 
whom he pretended to love. From this you can 
perceive that his love never had a deep root in his 
heart. Do not grieve, therefore, too sorely for the 
loss of him. A man, who, in the headlong folly of 
youth, and disregarding the cautions of experienced 
men, rushes after a heretic and now to this heretic 
sacrifices his betrothed, is not worthy of you.” 


146 


COUNT ERBACH. 


With a profound shudder Margaretta veiling her 
face turned away from such pitiless condolence, which 
rankled like a sharp dagger in her wounded heart. 
The Countess, however, rose with a forced compos- 
ure and said: “ My husband, everything has its time, 
even consolation. A premature attempt to comfort 
is powerless, and may wound rather than heal. But 
I could never have expected that you would have ap- 
proached your child as a comforter.” 

The Count had come with the best intention. He 
had actually hoped for a reconciliation with Philip, 
had wished by threatening him with the loss of his 
bride to impel him to a breach with Luther; and now 
the opposite decision of Philip and the heart-woe of 
his child, fell heavily upon his soul and pressed him 
to comfort her with good and mild words. When, 
however, he saw that his good intention was so lit- 
tle understood and appreciated, when the response 
was reproach and secret complaint; the former bit- 
terness came back into his soul, and in an altered 
tone he rebuked his wife: “I was not talking to you, 
Maria. You would have acted more discreetly if you 
had now kept silence, and not interfered between a 
father and his daughter, sowing distrust between 
those who would soon have understood each other 
and found themselves in harmony. But this has al- 
ways been a mother’s way in the world, to allow 
herself to be fooled by the smooth words of a suitor 


A CRUSHED AND TORN HEART. 


147 


and only to get her eyes open when she finds her 
daughter weeping in an ill-advised marriage.’ To 
you, however, my child, I say this: You think hard 
of your father now, as though he had, with a rude hand, 
destroyed your happiness for life, whereas it is really 
another who is responsible for the wicked deed. But 
a day will come when you will kiss this apparently 
hard hand and say: ‘ I thank you, my father, you 
have done well for me?”’ Thereupon he turned 
quickly about and left the Kemnate. 

“ Will it ever come to such a pass that I shall 
say so ? ” inquired Margaretta with a bitter smile. 
“ Mother, darling mother, I can never reconcile my- 
self to the thought of being obliged to separate from 
Philip without having once more seen him and heard 
his voice. Ah ! must I then separate from him with- 
out a farewell ? ” 

The Countess drew her daughter tenderly to her 
breast. “ My child, if there has to be a separation, 
it is by far the best that Philip should be at a dis- 
tance. For the melancholy hour of a last farewell 
awakens new pain and sorrow. This is the only 
thing in which your father’s judgment seems to me 
wise.” 

“ But would it be wrong, then, if I should see 
him once more ? ” asked Margaretta eagerly. 

The Countess shook her head doubtfully, and, 
evading the question, answered: “ Do not think of 


148 


COUNT ERBACH. 


it; why would you, by your own wilful doing, in- 
crease your wretchedness ? ” 

Margaretta’s arms fell motionless and powerless 
by the side of her body, and her eyelids sank weary 
and heavy. After a brief silence she said: “ From 
the lips of a third person only do I know Philip’s 
answer ; and who knows whether the messenger 
brought a true and faithful report ? I should be 
calmer if I had his own meaning from his own lips.” 

“ But to what purpose do you torment yourself 
with a wish which can never be fulfilled ? ” inquired 
the mother, still seeking to turn her thoughts. 
“ For, as you know, when your father has once 
resolved, no power on earth can move him from it.” 

Margaretta arose and clung to her mother’s arm: 
“ Mother of my heart, if Philip should now enter 
the door here and say to you: ‘Lady Countess, let 
me take my final adieu of my darling Margaretta,’ 
would you hinder him and turn him away from you ? 
O tell me, would you do that ? ” 

The Countess, more and more astonished, beheld 
her daughter with a mournful smile, in whose eyes 
glowed an uneasy fire. “ Never would I be so hard 
and unmerciful,” she answered slowly. “ Indeed I 
would encounter father’s anger and say: ‘ Leave 
him in peace, and grant him the last painful satis- 
faction.’ But abandon, my child, I beg you, the 
vain fancy.” 


A CRUSHED AND TORN HEART. 


149 


Margaretta fell upon her mother’s neck with pas- 
sionate warmth: “You are my dearest and best 
mother.” 

The Countess indulged the vehement caresses of 
her daughter, without understanding them, however. 
At last she said: “ Our souls are full of grief and 
sorrow which cannot be expressed in words. But 
there is One who comforts all mourners if they seek 
in Him a refuge. Our only hope is in God, who 
knows how to make all good which men have 
thought to make evil, Margaretta, my darling child, 
have we loved Him truly from the heart ? Ah, let 
our souls evermore fervently burn with His love, so 
shall we draw nearer to Him; and the nearer we 
are brought to Him, the more heavenly will be our 
temper and the deeper will be the consolation of 
our hearts.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


BLIND ZEAL, 


HE landlord of the Hotel of the Green Pine 



x in Speck, the small grove already mentioned 
near Wittenberg, had his room full of guests. They 
were grouped about a rickety table covered with 
rudely carved inscriptions, calling lustily for the 
foaming cuckoo, and keeping up a great uproar and 
confusion. It was a motley and animated picture; 
for the greater part of the carousers were students, 
whose apparel at that time displayed all colors and 
was of the most diversified cut. Some wore, in all 
its splendor, the dress of a nobleman: a slashed 
doublet, a Spanish mantle about the shoulders, 
close fitting pantaloons with puffs about the hips, 
and small Spanish boots, on the head a fancy cap 
and feather, and at the side a slim sword. Others 
appeared in a costume repudiated by strict puritans 
as an invention of the devil, with a short cut, in- 
sufficient coat, and trowsers enormously full and 


BLIND ZEAL. 


151 

ugly to look at. Others, still, swaggered in mil- 
itary attire, with huge clacking jackboots, leather 
breeches, breastplate and cuirassier’s sword on the 
baldric. The rest, however, presented themselves in 
the appropriate and customary student garb, that 
is, in a mantle reaching down to the knees, with 
ornamented border and with outstanding sleeves, 
a broad-brimmed slouch-hat cocked on one side, 
and brown or violet stockings in neatly fitting 
shoes and reaching up to the knees. Among these 
sons of the Muses, was here and there seen the 
square-built figure of a citizen from the artisan 
class, like a cuckoo among hedge sparrows. 

We observe also in the crowd our old acquaint- 
ance, the master turner, Tobias Trautwein. He has 
just now entered, with a very red face; and all eyes 
are fastened upon him, as he begins with a roaring 
voice: “ May the devil take me — it is a mad freak! 
Yesterday a bookseller arrived in the city from Halle, 
in the interest of Tetzel. His errand was to circu- 
late the opposing theses of the inquisitor in these 
parts, in order to counterwork and mortify Luther. 
He soon got rid of his wares, like a baker of his 
fresh cakes. But — the devil take me — what was the 
upshot of the matter ? He happened on the wrong 
customers: the students, who are adherents of Lu- 
ther, have got possession of them — eight hundred 
copies, and what do they mean to do with them ? 


152 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Hear it, gentlemen; they are going to burn them 
in the market-place ! ” 

A violent uproar took place among the guests. 
Many voices screamed at once in such confusion that 
no one could hear his own words. At last an old, 
grayheaded student, who had sprung upon the table, 
made his voice, which resembled a lion’s roar, heard 
through the din. “ Comrades! the fire must not take 
place ! Luther must not have a satisfaction of this 
kind; and Wittenberg is not to experience such an 
insult. Whoever has courage, comrades, let him help, 
that the bonfire may be prevented.” 

“Ha, ha!” cried Tobias with a shrill and bitter 
laugh of derision; “you may as well let such a 
thing alone, you fire-eaters. How many are there 
of you? A mere handful, as you see; but those who 
adhere to Luther become daily more numerous, so 
that a right-minded man might well feel sick at 
heart. In fact, since the day those execrable theses 
went into circulation, it is like a migration of nations 
to Wittenberg. You, gentlemen, could do nothing 
against such a swarm, and would have to creep into 
a mousehole.” 

A furious outcry arose after these words; and with 
fearful curses Luther was anathematized by this Korah 
rabble, as in fact he had long been already. 

The landlord filled the mugs again, and some one 
asked where the bonfire was to be kindled. Just then 


BLIND ZEAL. 


153 


the door was suddenly opened, and a young student 
out of breath screamed into the room: “ There you 
are sitting and quenching your thirst, while in the 
market-place there is a much fitter opportunity to 
extinguish something. When I came by the place 
an hour ago, everything was quiet. The devil must 
have been abroad; for now the bonfire is actually 
burning, and a dense crowd is singing satirical songs 
about Tetzel which are shocking to hear.” 

The rabble sprang, as if possessed, from the seats, 
and rushed in wild commotion out through the door 
toward the market-place, from whence the wind was 
bearing away dark volumes of smoke and shrill blasts 
of the trumpet. With a cry of rage they attempted 
to force their way into the dense multitude. But 
the effort of the few was powerless; and gnashing 
their teeth with rage and venting new maledictions, 
they shortly dispersed in every direction. Only the 
old graybeard attempted by force to begin an affray; 
but he was soon overpowered, and with a torn coat 
and bloody face, beat a retreat. 

It was, in fact, just as master Tobias reported. 
The students who adhered to Luther had bought 
up from a bookseller eight hundred copies of Tet- 
zel’s theses; and by burning the same had performed 
an act of retaliation upon the vender of indulgences. 
In a mad frolic, the young people, fantastically marked, 
had held a mock trial, and in the exuberance of their 


154 


COUNT ERBACH. 


fun had overpassed the limits of propriety by a lu- 
dicrous imitation of holy offices; and while stirring 
up the burning paper they chanted in the nasal voice 
of the monks the Church hymn for the repose of the 
dead : Requiem aeternam da iis , Domine ! (Give to 
them, O Lord, eternal rest.) Just then appeared on 
this scene a monk’s form in the garb of a Dominican 
friar, with a scroll on the breast bearing the label: 
“ Johannes Tetzel.” The same in holy indignation 
was about to administer a sharp rebuke for the act 
of burning the theses, when Beelzebub, with horse- 
tail, and red cockfeather, rushed in, followed by a 
troop of little devils in hideous costume, armed with 
spits and oven-forks, who danced and yelled around 
Tetzel and suddenly, at the command of Beelzebub, 
thrust him away from them with, their forks. 

The citizens had looked on this masquerade with 
evident sympathy. Not a single monk was to be 
seen in the street. 


In the quiet garden of the monastery, aloof from 
the ferment of the city, Martin Luther was standing 
and watching with delight the sparrows and tom-tits, 
to which he threw crumbs of bread from a tray. The 
garden was quite indispensable to him. It was to him 
a delightful recreation when he rambled at noon under 
the trees, and amused himself with the flowers which 
bloomed under his fostering hand. For he tended 


BLIND ZEAL. 


155 


them as gently as a mother does her child and sur 
passed the best gardener in delicacy and skill. This 
man, in whose mind were maturing vast world-mov- 
ing ideas, whose eye took in the whole of Christen- 
dom in its survey, whose inquiring mind was absorbed 
in the Book of books, and whose strength was con- 
sumed in the defence of the Gospel, could pass hours 
together in his quiet little garden and forget every- 
thing over the small rose which bloomed at his feet 
or a vine-branch which smiled upon him with golden 
fruit. The little birds all knew him well; for when 
the winter came and pinching want set in, they knew 
where to find their daily bread. They had not the 
least fear of the man in the black cowl, who was so 
good to them; they hopped quite near to him and 
prattled with him in their language which the learned 
man seemed to understand; for he answered them, and 
entertained himself with them, in a way which it was 
delightful to see. 

On this day the Doctor every now and then looked 
up and listened, when the wind brought him a sound 
from the market-place. But he gave attention only 
for a moment, and abandoned himself again like a 
child to the enjoyment of his feathered friends. 

Suddenly a stern voice startled him. “ There 
you stand now, Martinus, in unprofitable trifling, 
and pay no attention to the grave things which are 
this moment taking place.” 


156 


COUNT ERBACH. 


It was the Professor Andreas Bodenstein of Carl- 
stadt, Luther’s colleague and friend, who had hur- 
ried into the garden in an excited state of mind. 

“ What grave things ? ” inquired Luther eagerly. 
“Was that, perhaps, the noise which occasionally 
reached my ear ? ” 

“Certainly,” continued Bodenstein with warmth; 
“your friends have been active while you are idle, 
and have contrived a bitter retaliation for the fellow 
Tetzel. Of the theses which the vender of indul- 
gences published against you, eight hundred have 
already been burned in the market-place. Ah, that 
was a lusty fire, and a jubilation of the people which 
made my heart leap in my body. I did at first regret 
that you began the contest, thinking that you 
would stand alone, and probably fall into the trap 
of the Inquisitor. But now I see that your cause 
prospers; for the number of those who adhere to 
you increases daily. Pray, rejoice then also, Mar- 
tinus; for this fire concerns you more than any one 
else, and was kindled expressly for your honor and 
delight.” 

Luther’s countenance became more and more 
troubled. His eyes retreated behind his sinking eye- 
brows, his lips were gloomily compressed, and his 
arms extended as in deprecation to the speaker. 
“Do you think to give me joy by such a message? 
Do you not know me well enough, Andreas, to feel 


BLIND ZEAL. 


iS7 

that such news must give me deepest pain ? Not 
with such weapons will I contend, for they are 
fleshly weapons. I have another sword, which is 
the word of God, and which is more powerful than 
flames of fire. My young friends, no doubt, meant 
well toward me. But they have acted with a blind 
zeal; and I cannot thank them for it, inasmuch as 
such a procedure brings only a scandal upon the good 
cause. For now a reproach is put into the mouth 
of the enemy. ‘ This man pretends to fight only 
with the weapons of the Spirit; but look how much 
of the flesh is in him.’ ” 

Bodenstein’s face became grave; and, in a state 
of mingled embarrassment and vexation, he stam- 
mered out something scarcely intelligible, soon left 
the garden and returned home with conflicting 
feelings. 

Scarcely had Luther returned to his cell, when 
there was a knock, and in the door appeared a 
young student with an agreeable face and an open, 
frank expression of countenance. He greeted the 
Doctor respectfully, and said: “ My name is Jo- 
hannes Knipstrow and I am a student belonging 
to the order of the Franciscans and devoted to learn- 
ing at Frankfort. I have been here in Wittenberg a 
few days, and attended your lectures, that I might 
see and hear for myself the man whose words had 
touched my heart and showed to me the way of 


COUNT ERBACH. 


I 5 8 

truth. At Frankfort I have sat with a few friends 
over your books and diligently studied them, I have 
also searched the Scriptures whether these things 
were so, as you teach; and in this inquiry it has be- 
come more and more evident to me that you are 
altogether right. 

“ The man Tetzel, who at present gains everywhere 
contempt and ridicule instead of cash, is preparing 
to maintain in debate his theses against yours, in 
order to obtain a Doctor’s degree. I have, therefore, 
a project which has been maturing in my mind and 
allows me no rest day or night. When I think of 
my youth this purpose frightens me, as an audacious 
venture; but a zeal for the Lord consumes me and 
I cannot banish it from my thoughts. I have on that 
account come to Wittenberg, to inquire of you, rev- 
erend father, whether you could say yea and amen 
to my design. One thing, however,” he proceeded 
with some difficulty and hesitation, — “ one thing I 
would like previously to inquire — whether the riot 
which has just taken place in the market square 
of this city occurred with your consent or at your 
bidding ? ” 

Luther shook his head sorrowfully. “The report 
of it has just now reached me, and my soul is pained 
at such an impropriety, which runs strongly against 
every thought and feeling of mine. I shall this day 
bear my testimony against it at vespers.” 


BLIND ZEAL. 


159 


The student breathed more freely. “ Forgive me, 
reverend Doctor, that I should wrong you with a 
question implying such distrust. My heart said to 
me in advance, that you could have had no part or 
satisfaction in such a proceeding; for the weapons 
with which you contend are more noble.” 

“ But tell me now, I pray,” said Luther interrupt- 
ing the young man somewhat impatiently, “what 
is the purpose which agitates your mind ? ” 

A new blush of embarrassment covered the cheeks 
of the young man, and he replied with some delib- 
eration: “I have read the theses of Tetzel. Such 
things ought not to remain unanswered, lest the 
man suppose he has silenced his opponent and won 
a victory. You, however, very reverend Doctor, 
should not soil your fingers with the putrid thing. 
It would also be an unequal contest, as between a 
valiant knight and a robber behind the hedge. Tet- 
zel’s propositions are so weak and vulnerable that 
it does not require your intellectual force to vanquish 
him. I would, therefore, most respectfully ask — 
whether you — will give — me permission — to — debate 
with Tetzel ? ” 

Luther’s powerful eyes opened wide and measured 
with searching gaze the youthful figure, on whose 
cheeks glowed a hallowed fire more and more beau- 
tiful and whose whole nature had something uncom- 
monly attractive; a smile of fatherly good-will spread 


i6o 


COUNT ERBACH. 


over the Doctor’s lips. “ You are a bold fellow,” 
said he, playfully patting the young man’s shoulders. 
“How many years do you number?” 

“ One and twenty,” was the answer of the youth, 
whose courage grew apace under Luther’s kindly 
manner. “I beg you, count not my years, Sir Doc- 
tor; try me rather according to my knowledge and 
ability, if you have leisure and patience to do so.” 

“Very well, then, my young friend, sit right 
down,” was the cordial invitation of Luther, “and 
let me see whether your little armory is full of right 
good weapons.” 

The two men now plunged into a theological con- 
ference which lasted two full hours. Then Luther 
arose and laid his hand on the young man’s head: 
“Go forward, my very dear young friend; you will 
accomplish it, and the grace of God be with you.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


ONE BLOW AFTER ANOTHER. 

HE Friday after the festival of St. Anthony, Jan- 



uary 22d, 1518, was a sunbright winter day. A 
robe of pure white snow lay on the ground. Under 
a high vaulted ceiling in the hall of the University 
of Frankfort on the Oder, a large and brilliant as- 
sembly was gathered. Three hundred monks, besides 
many of the nobles and principal citizens were pres- 
ent. The object in view was a Doctor’s promotion, 
and that not an ordinary one either; for the widely 
known Dominican Prior and Apostolical Inquisitor, 
Johannes Tetzel, whose name was on many lips, 
proposed to maintain his theses against Doctor Mar- 
tin Luther. 

Majestically raised on a lofty chair, in a red vel- 
vet mantle and with a golden sceptre, sat Dr. Con- 
rad Wimpina, the Rector of the University. All knew 
that he was in sympathy with Tetzel, and some even 


COUNT ERBACH. 


162 

claimed to know that he had himself drawn up the 
theses, inasmuch as Tetzel was not capable of such 
an intellectual effort. 

The portly and massive form of the Rector now 
rose with a good deal of bustle, and when a profound 
silence ensued, he said: ‘‘This grave and highly re- 
spectable assembly will please give attention to the 
two and twenty propositions which the Brother Jo- 
hannes Tetzel, Apostolical Inquisitor, proposes pub- 
licly to defend in the High School of Frankfort, 
From these it will soon appear, at the first glance, 
who is to be considered a heretic, apostate, babbler, 
and blasphemer.” 

In still deeper silence the theses of Tetzel were 
now read aloud, and afterward those present were 
called upon to speak, if any one had aught to 
object. 

A long silence ensued, and then a low whisper. 
At length a young monk made his way with diffi- 
culty to the rostrum, and his voice rang through the 
assembly: “Since, as it appears, no one of the older 
and more learned gentlemen is willing to speak, I 
will venture to attack the theses which have just 
been heard, from the first one to the last, inasmuch 
as they rest all on a foundation so insecure that it 
is a small thing to overthrow them.” 

A murmur of surprise and dissatisfaction ran through 
the hall. The Rector darted a withering look of dig- 


ONE BLOW AFTER ANOTHER. 


163 


nified contempt at the young man, while Tetzel’s im- 
ploring eyes sought the Rector as though he would 
say: “Come to my rescue; I am in woe and anguish.” 

The young man now began to speak, at first with 
some embarrassment and in a subdued voice; yet 
soon with such a flow of eloquence and force of de- 
monstration that all eyes were fastened more and 
more intently upon the bold debater. On all sides 
the question was asked: “Who is this man?” and 
the answer was: “He is one of the Franciscans, his 
name is Johannes Knipstrow; he has a keen intellect 
and he has studied so thoroughly, that Tetzel may 
find some trouble with him.” 

So it turned out in fact. Tetzel became confused, 
was first pale, then red, and it was quite evident that 
he was better fitted for a mountebank and cutpurse 
than a debater, and that a fool’s cap was more suit- 
able for him than a doctor’s hat. 

Here and there a suppressed titter was audible, 
which put poor Tetzel in a profuse perspiration; while 
others again, especially the Dominicans, clenched their 
fists in anger and vexation. At length the tumult was 
such that only with great difficulty the Rector suc- 
ceeded in commanding silence. Finally, as Tetzel 
got himself into a more and more pitiable condition, 
the Rector himself was obliged to enter the lists 
and undertake the defence of the theses, in which, 
however, he succeeded so badly that he closed the 


164 


COUNT ERBACH. 


debate in an extreme disgust, as he was not able to 
cope with the young Franciscan. 

Tetzel, in a most wretched plight and humor, 
stole away from the scene like a half drowned dog, 
and heartily wished that he had kept his fingers out 
of the business. He found some comfort, however, 
in his despondency from the fact that, after all, his 
Doctor’s hat would be secure, as it was necessary, in 
any case, as a slight to Luther. Yet on the street 
the boys sang: 

Ye who cannot say your say, 

From debating keep away. 

Amid loud cheers was young Knipstrow received 
and borne in a sort of triumphal procession to his 
lodging, where he was served with a goblet of red 
wine and cheered with many words of encouragement. 

As late in the evening he was sitting alone in his 
little room and thinking over the great event, two 
unknown persons in disguise entered suddenly, and 
in a threatening tone commanded him to follow them; 
and, when he refused to do so, laid hold of him by 
the arms and led him forcibly down the stairs. In 
the street below was standing a carriage to which 
two horses were harnessed, into which they forced 
him, despite resistance, and, as he cried for help, 
they thrust a cloth into his mouth and drove away 
in the darkness. Whither ? — that they did not tell 


ONE BLOW AFTER ANOTHER. l6$ 

him. But after a few days he found out what this 
nightly adventure meant. In the prison of a remote 
Pomeranian convent he was to repent his victory 
over Luther’s opponent. 

At Wittenberg there was great exultation when 
the news came that Tetzel had been shamefully 
worsted in debate at Frankfort. Even Luther heard 
it with pleasure and inquired with much interest 
about the young debater, whom he would gladly 
have attracted to Wittenberg, in order to have him 
with himself. Yet no one could give any information 
where the youth was staying or what had become 
of him. 

Luther found, indeed, little time for instituting 
further inquiries; for in the meantime he was obliged 
to sharpen his own sword for the conflict. A more 
dangerous adversary now took the field against 
him. 

Hitherto he had cherished a secret hope that 
the Pope would form a right judgment and not 
shut his own eyes to the truth. But now came 
to him from Rome, issuing from the Pontifical 
palace, a stone flying at his head, in the form of 
a document which the Pope himself had caused 
to be drawn up by one of his highest officials, the 
palace minister, Sylvester Prierias. 

Luther was alarmed at this document bearing 


1 66 


COUNT ERBACH. 


the Papal seal. It began in a tone of arrogant supe- 
riority, and treated the Wittenberg professor as an 
immature schoolboy. The palace minister seemed 
to regard the victory as already in his own hand, for, 
in the consciousness of superiority, he declared that 
he would merely ascertain whether Martinus had a 
nose of iron and a head of brass. He used no title 
of respect whatever or fragrant word of compliment 
to the German monk, but called him in scorn a 
leper whose skin changed from one color to another. 
Among other things he said, that since biting is a 
property of dogs, Luther very probably had a dog 
for his father, inasmuch as he seemed born, for biting. 
If, however, the Pope had given him a fat bishopric 
and made him Commissioner of Indulgences, he 
would probably have had a sweeter voice and piped 
in a different tone about indulgences. 

“ Now the real work begins,” exclaimed Luther 
earnestly, when he read these words and remem- 
bered that the Pope was behind them. He laid the 
document down and sank into a long and silent 
meditation, interrupted by occasional sighs which 
betrayed the anguish of his heart. He recalled 
the warnings of his friends, who had followed his 
steps with anxious look and foreboded no good for 
him. Again he seized and read the document, and 
the further he went the more his eyes brightened, 
the more cheerful and buoyant his mind became; 


ONE BLOW AFTER ANOTHER. 


l6? 


and, when he finally put the bungling performance 
out of his hand, he could hardly refrain from laugh- 
ter. “What an able advocate and clever attorney 
the Pope has chosen for himself! Verily, if I had 
not known that Herr Sylvester Prierias has gray hair, 
I might have taken him for a boy that had scarcely 
broken the shell.” 

It became too narrow for him in the cell. He 
diew the cowl over his head, for without it was 
fiercely cold, and went at a hurried step to his friend 
Nicolaus Amsdorf. He, too, laughed when he read 
the document. “ It seems to me,” he remarked, “ as 
if this pamphlet had not been composed by Sylvester 
himself, but by some scamp who palmed off this scur- 
rilous production on the palace minister of the Holy 
Father only to ridicule him, as the Epistola Obscuro- 
rum Virorum lately did with the monks. In my 
opinion, therefore, it is not at all necessary to make 
any reply to it.” 

Luther himself was at first inclined to entertain 
this supposition. But after it became certain, that 
Sylvester Prierias did actually, and in real earnest, 
issue this paper, Luther reviewed it with a right 
good will, and gave the poor Prierias such an un- 
merciful mauling, as to leave scarcely a sound spot 
on his body. He caused the document of Prierias 
to be printed word for word and set in the margin 
as a border around it his own criticisms. It was 


COUNT ERBACH. 


1 68 

thereby demolished in the eyes of the world, and 
Sylvester’s glory turned to shame. 

When the Pope received intelligence of this, he 
carried himself towards his palace minister very un- 
graciously, and said that he had expected better 
things of him. 

Luther’s name, however, acquired daily a clearer 
and fuller ring, and his cause a broader and firmer 
foundation. Yet in the same proportion also in- 
creased the violence of his enemies. In pulpits 
innumerable, and in the most fanatical expressions 
of animosity, were heard denunciations against the 
Wittenberg heretic, arch-heretic, antichrist, madman, 
demoniac, arch-villain, seducer, prophet of the devil, 
and apostle of hell. It seemed as if his victories 
were to cost Doctor Martinus dear; and the fate of 
poor Knipstrow, of which he now learned, as also 
the sorrow of his friends, must have made him timid 
if he had not been Luther — yes, exactly Luther. 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE ANGEL OF CONSOLATION. 

r J^HE sky is blue, the air is still, the snow is 
frozen hard, and the atmosphere is clear and 
bracing. In short, the day is precisely one on which 
the huntsman goes to his business with the greatest 
alacrity and delight. 

In the Castle Court at Fuerstenau, the attendants 
are sitting on horseback and restraining with difficul- 
ty the dogs, who pull wildly at the tether and wait 
impatiently for the start. The Count allows them 
to wait long for him; so that it becomes tedious to the 
men and expressions of dissatisfaction are dropped. 
Formerly the Count was very different, a model of 
punctuality and the lover of order. Now he is so va- 
riable and impetuous that one never knows how to 
please him. 

At last he appears on the steps in leather jacket, 
and the train puts itself in motion. Soon the tract 
is reached which is to be beaten up in to-day’s hunt. 


170 


COUNT ERBACH. 


The horns give a signal, the dogs open, and the hunt 
begins. 

It is not long before there follows a second blast 
of the horn. It is an order to let loose the pack, for 
a trace of the noble game is discovered. With shouts 
of men and the yelp of dogs, the train dashes away 
like a whirlwind, and the twigs and branches of the 
underbrush snap and crackle under the horses’ feet. 
The panting stag, a noble fellow of fourteen points, 
is fleet of foot and has a wide start. He baffles his 
pursuers by zig-zag turns, and the chase becomes 
more and more animated. The Count especially spurs 
excitedly his hunting charger, his eyes flame, and his 
cheeks glow with the fire of passion. 

Now the stag makes a new move. By a sudden 
turn he makes for the highway which winds obliquely 
through the forest. He makes a prodigious leap, and 
is clear over the ditch. On come the hunters also 
quickly. The horses hesitate and prance, for the 
ditch is broad; but a thundering call of the Count 
resounds, and with a madly daring leap the whole 
troop is across on the highway. 

Just at that moment, two obscure peasants are 
coming along the road driving a calf before them. 
The foremost of the riders shout to them to turn 
out; and one of them, a young and active person, 
quickly darts aside. But the other, an old man, weak 
and slow in his limbs, is not able to seek shelter. 


THE ANGEL OF CONSOLATION. 


171 


He and the little calf together sink beneath the hoofs 
of the horses; and without a pause the chase sweeps 
onward. 

Pale with terror and trembling in his whole frame, 
the youth rushes to the spot and bends over the old 
man. “ Father ! Father ! ” he cries in mortal fright, 
shaking the prostrate old man. “ Father! open your 
eyes ! ” 

The old man does not move. 

Then the youth started up in wild and frantic an- 
guish, and clenched fiercely his hands in speechless 
rage after the vanishing huntsmen. 

From the neck of the little calf which had bee^i 
crushed to the ground spurted a stream of blood. It 
gave only one piteous groan and expired. The young 
peasant heard it not. He stood there like one dazed, 
gazing vacantly into the empty space, with lips com- 
pressed, a mute and dismal picture of excited terror. 

After a while, regaining his self-possession, he 
turned to his father lying on the ground, grasped 
him with a strong arm, and bore him wearily away. 

Half an hour later, bathed in perspiration, he 
reached the village and his lowly hut. In the door 
he was met by an old woman, who gazed with pro- 
found alarm on her returning son, and at the sight of 
the lifeless body gave utterance to a piteous cry of 
grief. 

“Yea, wail, mother, if you still have tears!” 


172 


COUNT ERBACH. 


screamed the son wildly. “ But I will run abroad 
into the land and cry: woe ! ” 

He laid his father on the bed, unfastened his jack- 
et, and examined his body, on which appeared five 
wounds, no one of which, happily, was mortal. The 
son bade the mother prepare a hot drink, which he 
poured into the mouth of the unconscious man. He 
then washed his wounds with fresh water; and, after 
an hour, the breathing returned to the old man 
again. First of all, however, the son was obliged 
to tell him the particulars of what had happened; 
for his thoughts were confused and, as it were, 
beclouded. 

It was soon rumored throughout the village what 
had happened, and the room was filled with peas- 
ants, who gave vent to violent and irritating words, 
and talked long with Andreas, the injured man’s 
son. When some left, others came; and till late in 
the afternoon the exhausted man did not find an 
hour of repose. 

From the Castle descended a damsel, with a bas- 
ket on her arm, and directed her steps towards the 
village where this accident had happened. Every day 
she was seen to come down from the hill and to 
visit the hamlets round about Fuerstenau; and 
wherever she appeared, the poor, and needy, and 
suffering, greeted her with tears of thankfulness. 

She entered a hut at the very beginning of the 


THE ANGEL OF CONSOLATION. 


173 


village street, in which a young married woman 
was lying in a fever. The patient was in a slum- 
ber, with her pale hands folded on her breast. On 
the floor sat a child about two years of age gnaw- 
ing on a turnip. Everything in the dreary and un- 
tidy room was in confusion, and the air of it was 
close and stifling. The young la^y took the child 
from the floor and cleansed it from the filth; she 
then swept the floor and put the room in order. 
As she was just in the act of placing the contents 
of her basket upon the table, the door opened and 
the husband of the sick woman entered. He stopped 
short and remained standing in the door surprised and 
embarrassed, forgetting even the salutation. 

The young lady approached him kindly, and in- 
quired tenderly about the state of the sick wife. The 
peasant answered in a manner so absent and wan- 
dering that it struck the young lady with surprise. 

“What is the matter with you, David?” 

The man seemed unwilling to speak; but, at the 
urgent request of the lady, he finally told her, in a 
hesitating way, what had happened to the old peas- 
ant Joseph the same morning. 

The young lady listened with deepest emotion; 
and when David had finished the story, she took 
her leave in haste. “Good-bye, David, I will look 
after the poor man.” 

As she drew near the cottage she heard a hum of 


174 


COUNT ERBACH. 


confused voices, which however at once ceased as 
she opened the door and stepped in. She observed, 
too, in the feelings of those present, a still greater 
constraint and perplexity than she had remarked in 
David. All gave way respectfully as she approached 
the bed and bent over the sick man with a look of 
tender sympathy and compassion; a deep stillness 
reigned in the narrow chamber; they listened mo- 
tionless to the sweet, gentle, and touching words 
which the young lady spoke, and gazed upon the 
delicate, noble, pale face, in every feature of which 
beamed love and tenderness. 

Ursula, the wife of the unfortunate man, was 
sitting behind the stove and weeping silently by 
herself; Andreas, the son, was standing by the door, 
his face flushed with shame, in painful constraint, 
fumbling mechanically with his hands the fur cap 
which he had taken off. The rest of the peasants, 
also, were extremely disconcerted, and hardly knew 
which way to turn their eyes. What they saw was 
to them like a supernatural apparition, as a judgment 
of God for their evil thoughts. 

“ I will come again to-morrow,” said the young 
lady, “and bring something to revive and strengthen 
you, my poor Jacob.” Thereupon she vanished 
noiselessly from the cottage. 

It was apparent that all now breathed more freely; 
but they had not words to express what they felt. 


THE ANGEL OF CONSOLATION. 


175 


At last the old Ursula behind the stove came for- 
ward and, with uplifted hands and earnest look, 
stood before the son Andreas. “ Be heartily sorry, 
Andreas. Never do I want to see you clench your 
fist against the man whose daughter hovers like an 
angel of mercy over those who are groaning in want 
and misery.” 

“Yes, be ashamed and sorry,” cried a voice from 
the bed of the sick man, who raised himself with 
difficulty and beckoned his son to him. “You too,” 
he continued, addressing himself to the rest, “hold 
your tongues in silence, and cease to have hard 
thoughts of our Count. Separate yourselves from 
those who come from Franconia and Thuringia, 
sneaking stealthily through the villages and exciting 
the people to disobedience towards the knights and 
nobles. For never could the saints be with those 
who break the ordinance of God and set themselves 
against those whose bread they eat.” 

A low murmur of dissatisfaction was heard in the 
room. 

“Be silent,” resumed the old man indignantly. 
“ I know your talk. It may be, perhaps, that this 
or that noble is a harsh man to his subjects, like 
Pharaoh to the children of Israel. Yet it would be 
a sin and folly if we should wish to rise up against 
our Count; for he is an upright, noble man. But 
even if he were not ; ought we not be quiet and 


176 


COUNT ERBACH. 


willing to serve him in peace for his daughter s sake ? 
Have you so quickly forgotten again all the good 
which the Countess Margaretta does, in all places, 
wherever distress cries to her ? Therefore do you, 
too, repent, you men, and change your mind/’ 

The peasants ventured not a word of reply, and 
left the cottage in silence. 

From her childhood up, the most delightful walks 
of Margaretta had been when, as a good Samaritan, 
she could dry the tears, soothe the griefs, and heal 
the wounds of the distressed and suffering. What 
was it that now kindled in her noble heart a still 
warmer zeal in the practice of this virtue ? Ah, in 
consolation which she imparted to others, she sought 
for herself a solace; in the love which she gave to 
the poor, she wished to find something to replace 
her own great loss, and healing for the open wounds 
of her own heart.* 


* II Cor. i. 4. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


MEETING AGAIN 



OUNT Philip von Rieneck was sitting in the 


evening twilight by the fire, warming his chilled 
and stiffened limbs; for to-day he had taken a long 
ride through his dominions. Stout billets of oak 
snapped and crackled briskly in the fire, and the 
tongues of flame threw all manner of shadowy figures 
on the ceiling, like uneasy and silent spectres. 

In a grave mood the Count watched the play of 
the flames, throwing now and then mechanically a 
billet into the fire. We scarcely recognize him again. 
The fiery glow of his cheeks is paled; the lustre of 
his eye is quenched; and a trace of lassitude appears 
on his once animated countenance. Philip looks like 
one who has done with the world. His life has to 
him no further meaning or aim; for the pole of his 
thought, and feeling, and effort is removed, and the 
fair edifice of hopes has fallen in ruins. He seeks 
consolation and indemnity in the fulfilment of his 


178 


COUNT ERBACH. 


duties as a ruler; and his subjects all revere him 
as an upright and clement lord, and love him from 
the heart well nigh more than a father. But all 
this love and reverence of his subjects, however grate- 
ful to his feelings, could not heal the wounds which 
fate had inflicted on him, could not satisfy the want 
which the loss of the dearest of all beings caused. 
His only consolation was night and the Word of 
God. In the night his loved one, regardless of the 
father’s prohibition, came to him in dreams. Then 
was she his own; then he saw her face and heard 
her voice; and then she swore to him love and 
fidelity until death. By day he searched much the 
Holy Scriptures and the writings of Luther; and 
from the precious Word of God he derived a conscious 
power to bear his sorrow, so that it was not too 
heavy and his soul became ever more submissive 
to the Lord. 

Near him, stretched on the floor, lay Ralf, the 
large silver-gray bulldog, the faithful beast, which 
did not stir from his side. It seemed as if this crea- 
ture felt that its master was now altogether alone, 
and crouched near him all the time, and looked at 
him frequently with his large eyes exactly as if he 
said: “ Though all forsake thee, I will stay with 
thee." 

The door opened, and Jonathan, the old servant, 
made the announcement: “A traveller is waiting 


MEETING AGAIN. 


179 


below in the hall, and desires to speak with you, 
my gracious Master.” 

“ Have a warm bowl of porridge made for him 
and let him have a place by the fire,” answered 
the Count without looking up. 

“ It has been already done, gracious Sir,” rejoined 
Jonathan, “but the man insists upon it that he must 
see you in person, and speak with you; for he bears 
with him a weighty matter for you, which he dares 
not deliver to any other.” 

Philip turned himself toward the door. “ Weighty 
matter for me ? Then he may come in.” 

Whereupon there appeared a man in poor clothing 
and slender body, who bowed politely at the door 
and, at a motion from the Count, approached nearer. 

“Whence come you, stranger?” 

“ Directly from Fuerstenau, Sir.” 

The Count rose quickly from his seat, and fixed 
his eyes intently and inquiringly upon the stranger. 
“ Did any one send you to me with a commission, 
that you desire to see me in person ? ” 

The traveller silently nodded assent and fingered 
on his jacket, while the Count's pulse beat quicker 
and quicker. The man searched with his fingers 
even to the bare skin, whence he drew forth a small 
wallet of kid leather and handed it to the Count. “ I 
had to conceal this in a secure place,” he said, “ for 
something of great value seems to be kept in it, if 


i8o 


COUNT ERBACH. 


I may judge by the good messenger’s pay which 
the gracious lady gave me. An excellent, beautiful 
damsel, Sir; but so pale. She must surely have 
some great sorrow upon her heart.” 

Philip had meanwhile possessed himself of the 
wallet, and occupied himself with getting at the 
contents. At last he drew out a letter, and with 
difficulty repressed his tears when he saw upon it 
Margaretta’s handwriting. “ Please go down again 
into the hall,” he said to the messenger, “and warm 
yourself thoroughly. But, here, take from me four 
gold pieces which I happen to have in my pocket, 
and God preserve you.” 

The traveller, overcome with delight, bent his knee 
and wished to express his thanks; but the Count 
did not suffer it and hurried the happy fellow out 
at the door. 

Now Philip breathed more freely, and his lips 
whispered as if in prayer. 

It had become quite dim in the room, and by 
the flickering light of the chimney-fire he could 
scarcely distinguish the letters; besides his eyes 
swam and his hands trembled violently. But to 
light a taper, was more than his eagerness allowed 
him to do. He bent himself down to the fire and 
read, and repeatedly raised the paper to his lips, 
while a thrill as of fire ran through his veins. 

O how happy he was ! how blessed ! To be sure 


MEETING AGAIN. 


I8l 


he had not the loved one herself; but he now had, 
nevertheless, the paper which her fingers had touched 
and her tears moistened. Soon his tears joined them- 
selves to hers — oh, it must surely be something troub- 
lous that she wrote on the second page. 

More than once he paused. He could not finish 
the reading at one breath: the storm within must 
first in some measure subside. When at last he had 
brought the reading of the letter to a conclusion, 
he relapsed again into his former dreamy brooding 
and sighs. It had now become entirely dark, and 
the servant entered bringing a lighted candle. He 
started up alarmed, gazed intently at the man who 
had entered, and drew him to a seat, saying: “ Sit 
down here by me, Jonathan, I have something to 
say to you. But first shove the bolt of the door.” 
The two sat long together, until the candle had 
quite burned down. 

When old Jonathan laid himself down to rest 
that night, after saying his rosary through he added 
to it a prayer for his Master right out of his own 
heart. “ O St. Ignatius help ! and let no harm be- 
fall him; and the first time I see him laugh heartily, 

I vow to place on your altar two large wax candles.” 

It was the end of February. The winter still 
drove mercilessly its sport with the stiffened earth. 
The plain lay buried deep in snow; the trees groaned 


COUNT ERBACH. 


182 

under the weight; many a little bird found no longer 
its daily bread and fell dead from the bough; even 
the wild game of the forest sought help of men, from 
whose approach at other times it fled. Moreover, it 
was bitter cold, so that the snow crackled under 
the feet like fragments of glass. 

The sun was about going down when a monk 
dragged himself painfully up the height to Castle 
Fuerstenau, often slipping backward on the smooth 
path, and pausing from time to time in order to wipe 
the moisture from his brow. Having reached the other 
enclosing wall equipped with numerous small watch- 
towers, he called to the sentinel at the gate and 
humbly begged for entrance. A surly answer came 
back from the small, half-opened, grated window: 
“I will not freeze my fingers stiff for a beggar. Wait 
till the servants come home from the forest.” Where- 
upon he shut the window again. 

The monk sighed and rubbed his stiffened hands 
together. He tried also to keep himself warm by 
pacing backward and forward; for a cutting wind 
from the heights blew directly upon his heated 
temples. He drew his cowl down closer upon his 
face, and kept his watch upon the forest with a 
painful impatience. Fortunately he did not have to 
wait long before he heard voices, and soon the cas- 
tle servants came up the heights. 

At his request, the servants permitted the monk 


MEETING AGAIN. 


183 


to enter with them the Castle Court, without further 
troubling themselves about him. They turned towards 
the stables, while the friar made his way to the inner 
court. His eyes ran furtively along the window rows 
of the castle, which now glowed in the last feeble 
rays of the setting sun. Then he walked slowly and 
cautiously to the kitchen, from which he heard the 
chattering of the servant maids. 

As he was about to ascend the stone steps he 
met the aged Daniel. The monk’s face lighted up 
for a moment with something like an expression of 
joy. Still it was only for a moment; for immedi- 
ately, with an inclination of his person, he uttered 
the customary salutation: “ Glory be to Jesus Christ.” 

“ World without end, Amen,” responded Daniel, 
and went on to say: “ You come late up the heights, 
my reverend friend.” 

“ I wanted to beg for entertainment this night 
and also for refreshment,” said the monk. 

Daniel surveyed the friar with a keen eye, as if 
there was something striking about him; and then 
said: “ Come in,” at the same time with a motion 
of the hand directing him to the kitchen. 

Glancing toward the women, the monk hesitated and 
looked embarrassed. “ I am tired from long travel- 
ling: might I therefore humbly request for myself 
a quiet corner, for the curiosity of the maids is op- 
pressive to me.” 


1 84 


COUNT ERBACH. 


With a gentle shake of the head and a scrutiny 
of the monk’s face, the old man opened the door 
of his own chamber and invited the stranger to a 
place on a wooden seat which ran along the wall, 
while he busied himself in kindling a taper. Then 
he called to the women to bring in some bread and 
beer. After this was done the monk shoved the cowl 
back so that his face was open to view. 

Again the old man paused and fastened his gaze 
on these features which seemed to him so familiar. 
“ What is your name ? ” he asked quickly. 

“ Brother Philippus,” was the answer. 

“ Merciful God!” exclaimed Daniel, starting and 
clapping his hands together with amazement. “You 
deceive me no longer. The cowl is a poor disguise, 
for your speech betrays you. It is our Count Philip.” 

“Yes, that is who I am, Daniel,” said the monk 
stepping up to the old man and grasping his hand; 
“and I have come to you for help, because I know 
your faithfulness. Or” — scanning doubtfully his face 
— “do you no longer love me? Have you also be- 
come my enemy ? ” 

The old man was quite beside himself, and trembled 
from head to foot, so that he was not able to utter 
a word. He gazed by turns at the Count and at 
the door. 

“ I have caused you alarm and apprehension,” said 
Philip with deep concern. “ I am truly sorry for it. 


MEETING AGAIN. 


I8 5 

But only compose yourself, my old friend; there will 
no trouble happen; for in this strange disguise no 
one will surely seek the Count of Rieneck.” 

Daniel tottered with unsteady knee to the door 
and slipped the wooden bolt. He then said: “But 
tell me, I pray, what does your presence here imply? 
In the sternest and most peremptory manner has the 
Count prohibited you from crossing his threshold. I 
must not shelter you longer, for by so doing I would 
break my pledge of fidelity and my conscience would 
upbraid me.” 

Philip drew the old man near to him on the bench 
and again pressed his rough, bony hand. “Daniel, 
why do you look at me with so much distrust and 
suspicion ? Do you think that I would lead you 
into a breach of honor and trust ? I think I see in 
you what you apprehend from me. You look upon 
me as a robber, aiming to carry off a daughter from 
her parents. Is it not so ? ” 

Daniel nodded sorrowfully and buried his face in 
his two hands sobbing. “What else would you do, 
Sir Count ? Would you go to the Count her father 
and demand his daughter ? What then is the ob- 
ject of your monk’s disguise ? ” 

“Only calm yourself, I pray you,” said Philip 
earnestly to the old man, “and listen to me. Never 
would I have forced myself over this forbidden thresh- 
hold, if Count Erbach had granted me, what he ought 


COUNT ERBACH. 


1 86 

not to have refused, a last farewell of my Margaretta. 
For this alone have I made this stealthy entrance.” 

Daniel felt a sensible relief, and looked up at the 
Count with an expression of thankfulness. “ O that 
is a good word, Sir Count; now the pressure upon 
my heart is removed. But still — why have you taken 
this dangerous step ? Was it not really a kindness 
and well meant, that our master spared you the 
agony of leave-taking ? Never could you after all 
have regained your bride thereby? To-day, also, if 
you see each other, what do you accomplish there- 
by except to add a new anguish to the old wound ? 
Follow, therefore, gracious Sir, my advice, and with- 
draw from here. Besides, there might some further 
misfortune happen to you.” 

Philip made an uneasy movement. “ So speaks 
a man who never loved a woman. Daniel, your 
counsel is cruel, and cuts me to the heart. I am 
so near to my loved one, and yet must I return 
home without accomplishing my object ? Demand 
anything else from me, Daniel, but do not demand 
this. You must aid me, I will never let you off. 
You will aid me when you learn who it was that 
gave me the impulse to such a venture and awa- 
kened the resolution to make it: Margaretta herself! 
Yes, open your old eyes, Daniel, and look at this.” 

He drew forth Margaretta’s letter and held it 
before the old man’s eyes. “ Do you know this 


MEETING AGAIN. 


187 


handwriting ? After having long waited in vain for 
a favorable opportunity, she privately sent me this 
short letter by the hand of a traveller. In it she 
tells me of her distress, how she wrestled for sub- 
mission to her fate without avail, because of her 
tormenting uncertainty as to the state of my feelings, 
and whether the Vogt had brought her a true and 
literal account. Also, the same had not told her 
a word concerning a point which was to her most 
important of all for her consolation, namely, wheth- 
er my heart would remain steadfast and faithful to 
her as hers would to me. If she had received this 
word of consolation from my own lips, then would 
she be more at rest; and, in the strength of spirit- 
ual fellowship with her betrothed, bear submissively 
her fate, and also keep alive in her heart the hope 
that after all her sorrow would some time be 
turned to joy. For which reason she implores me 
in the most pressing terms to come to her secretly; 
and advises me to make the venture in the disguise 
of a monk. She concludes her letter in these words: 
‘ Have compassion upon me, dearest Philip, I will 
discover by this whether your heart remains in eter- 
nal fidelity to me: if so, you will make this last 
sacrifice for me/ Now, Daniel, say — was I not 
obliged to come ? ” 

The old man looked straight before him, with 
firmly compressed lips, and slowly nodded his head. 


i88 


COUNT ERBACH. 


It was plainly to be read in his countenance, that 
he had a severe conflict in his mind, and wavered 
in painful doubt between two decisions. His affec- 
tion strongly inclined him to the Count, softening 
his heart in pity. But the consciousness of deceiv- 
ing his master, and the anguish of a possible 
discovery, placed, as it were, a bolt before his 
compassion. For a long time he found not a word; 
and Philip was obliged to resort anew to entreaties. 
“ Daniel, if you are not willing to do it for my 
sake, then have compassion upon the young lady. 
You have learned what service it is in your power 
to do her. To you it is a small matter; to her 
it becomes a very great favor, for which she will 
never, never forget you. Two duties press upon 
you, at the same time and in different directions 
— obedience to a hard, unfeeling command, on the 
one hand; and administering a balm to a deadly 
wounded heart on the other. Which is greater, 
Daniel ? ask your own conscience, which is the 
greater ? ” 

The old man paced the floor of the room up and 
down, wringing his hands: “ What ought I to do? 
Holy Mother of God, what shall I do ? ” 

“What your heart commands you, and the love 
which sheweth mercy,” cried Philip earnestly. “ Love 
is the supreme command; love is the fulfilling of 
the whole law.” 


MEETING AGAIN. 


189 


Tears burst from Daniel’s eyes. “ Who could with- 
stand you, Sir Count ? But I have a painful weight 
upon my heart lest some evil befall you.” 

“ Never fear, my dear Daniel,” said Philip quieting 
him. “You know, of course, a private way to the 
Kemnate where no one will overhear us. Yet go 
before and prepare Margaretta with the Countess, 
and see also whether the Count is not thereabouts.” 

With timorous step Daniel approached the door 
and shoved back the bolt. At the same instant 
he heard without a loud inquiry: “ Where is Daniel ?” 
The old man turned pale: he recognized the voice 
of Johannes Speckel, the confessor. 

Quickly regaining his self-possession, he called 
in an undertone to the Count: “The cowl over your 
head,” which was done in a trice. 

The door opened, and the confessor’s dun-colored 
face peered inquisitively into the room: “ Are you 
here, Daniel ? Light me to the apartment of your 
gracious master: for I shall not find my way alone 
in the dark. But what is the matter with you ? Are 
you sick ? ” 

“I do not feel altogether well this evening; very 
often something puts an old man out of sorts. But 
you, what do you seek at so late an hour as this at 
the Castle ? ” Thereupon he pressed the confessor 
before him in order to shut the door. 

But the father had already observed the monk, 


COUNT ERBACH. 


19O 

and asked: “Whom are you entertaining, here in 
your lodging, Daniel ? ” 

“ A mendicant monk bespoke from me an offering.” 

“ Let me give him the salutation, Daniel,” said 
the father, and he made his way into the room, “ God 
bless you, brother Franciscan, or to whatever order 
you belong.” 

Philip had with instinctive thoughtfulness placed 
himself against the light so that his face was in 
the shadow. He answered in a disguised nasal voice: 
“I am a Franciscan from the monastery at Fulda.” 

“ And whither do you travel ? ” 

“ I am engaged in a pilgrimage to the Holy 
City.” 

“ God give you his guidance, my worthy brother. 
I would right gladly make the pilgrimage thither 
with you. Have you heard on the way of what 
the people say about the Wittenberg devil ? ” 

“ Some call him a devil, and others an angel of 
God.” 

“The blinded wretches! Have you, perchance, 
heard also that he has reviled, with his coarse peas- 
ant’s mouth, the palace minister of the Holy Father ! ” 

“ They say, that Martin Sylvester will have no 
desire for another contest with the peasant.” 

“Who says that?” 

“ People here and there in the inns.” 

“Take care of yourself, brother I H >anciscan, and 


MEETING AGAIN. 


I 9 I 

salute for me the towers of the Holy City.” Where- 
upon the father turned about and left the room. 

Philip wiped the cold sweat from his brow and 
drew several times a deep breath. Now, too, he 
felt some sharp compunctions of conscience in re- 
flecting on the lies which his exigency had wrung 
from him; and he lifted his soul in sighs to heaven: 
“ God be merciful to me, and forgive me my sin, for 
Christ’s sake; thou knowest that my soul loves the 
truth and is averse to every thing which is false.” 

After a few minutes Daniel came back: “You 
see my foreboding, Sir Count. Take this as a warn- 
ing from God to desist from your purpose, and 
return.” 

Philip shook his head in token of unwillingness. 
“You take counsel of your fears, Daniel. On the 
contrary, it seems to me, that by the coming of 
Father Speckel the danger has been diminished; 
for assuredly we are not likely now to encounter 
the Count. So hasten to the ladies, my good Dan- 
iel, for impatience consumes me.” 

The old man yielded in silence, and did what 
was enjoined upon him. 

Philip meanwhile stepped to the window and 
looked out. The stars were shining bright and clear 
in the heavens, and one of them with a mild green- 
ish lustre appeared to smile on him with a special 
kindliness, as if it were the eye of God which 


192 


COUNT ERBACH. 


would guide him on his way. His heart dilated 
freely, he felt an influence soft and sweet in his 
soul, and all his anguish, his care, his impatience, 
and his aspiration dissolved in a flood of emotion. 

In the adjoining kitchen the chatter of the women 
had been hushed — Daniel must have prudently sent 
them away. 

The old man at length returned and beckoned 
silently. Philip accompanied him, with noiseless step 
and renewed beating of the heart, through long and 
dark passages, till his guide halted before a door. 
“ Here I will stand and wait for you,” he whispered. 
“ But I still beg of you one thing — not to keep me 
on the rack longer than one hour. Give me your 
hand upon it.” 

Philip did so, and the next moment he was pressed 
to the heart to which his own belonged in pure, holy, 
and undying love. 

All was quiet in the Castle. Only now and then 
came up from the court a short yelp of a dog or the 
stamp of a horse in the stable. The Castle was dark 
except that above in the other wing a light glim- 
mered from the Count’s room. 

To the waiting Daniel, the minutes seemed hours; 
his breathing well nigh stopped; and the sweat ran 
from every pore. In his sixty years of pilgrimage on 
earth, he had never yet experienced a moment so 
full of pain and torture; it seemed to him as if he 


MEETING AGAIN. 


193 


should die. He wanted to pray, and invoke the aid 
of all the saints. But he shrank in terror from this 
thought; and a troubled conscience sealed his lips. 

At last, at last the watchman’s horn called the 
next hour. Now barely ten minutes more, and the 
Count must come. But the ten minutes became 
twenty; and already Daniel tried by knocking on 
the door to remind him of his promise, when the 
door opened and Philip appeared. 

“ God be praised,” gasped Daniel with a fervent 
tone, and glided forward in silence; not, howevei 
by the same way, but through a side-wing of the 
Castle, from which the drawbridge could be reached 
more quickly and surely. 

The watchman made a wry face on being roused 
from his comfort for a second time on the beggar’ 
account; but a stern look from Daniel silenced the 
curse which was already upon his lips. 

When once without the precincts of the Castle, Phil 
ip grasped the old man’s hand with warmth. “ May 
God repay you for this kindness which you have done 
me. It has, indeed, opened afresh the bleeding 
wound in my soul, as you predicted. But the sting 
is taken from the pain after all. I know now that 
my Margaretta will be more calm, after she has heard 
from my own lips that my love belongs to her as 
long as life shall last. My soul, too, will be 
peaceful.” 


194 


COUNT ERBACH. 


“To that may the Holy Virgin help you,” said 
Daniel heartily. “ But I will not cease to implore 
and beseech all the saints that they will incline the 
heart of our gracious Master so that everything may 
come to a happy conclusion.” 

“Yes, pray, Daniel,” said Philip earnestly. “The 
effectual, fervent prayer of the righteous man avail- 
eth much. But never mind the saints. Go straight 
— to Almighty God Himself. He is able to do more 
than all the saints.” 

Daniel looked at him with blank astonishment. 
“ Will that do, then ? Dare one attempt such a 
thing ? I also believe that the great God is sitting 
above, exalted in heaven. But is He not too far 
above for one of us ? and must we not tremble to 
approach Him ? Are not the saints much nearer to 
us, more accessible, and more kindly disposed to us, 
than the stern and awful Judge whose eyes are full 
of fiery indignation ? ” 

“Not so, Daniel,” replied Philip. “It is written: 
God is love; and again: The Lord is nigh unto all 
them that call upon Him, to all that call upon Him 
in truth. He will fulfil the desire of them that fear 
Him, He also will hear their ' cry and will help 
them.” 

“Where is that written, Sir Count? That is a 
beautiful passage.” 

“It is found in the book which the Pope has 


MEETING AGAIN. 


195 


bound up in chains, but which Luther is setting free 
again.” 

“ Luther ?” exclaimed Daniel. “But they say that 
Luther is a heretic. If he has done what you say, 
he can surely be no heretic.” 

“ He certainly is not, Daniel. He is only accused 
falsely. He is a witness of the truth.” 

“ Listen to me, Sir Count. If that is the case, 
then be of good courage.” 

“ Why so, Daniel ? ” 

“Well, because the truth always comes to the 
light in due time. Then, they will have to desist 
from execrating Luther as a heretic; and then, — then, 
our Count will have to be of a different mind.” 

“O that it might be so,” cried Philip, his beaming 
eyes raised toward heaven; and afterward reached 
his hand to Daniel once more for the farewell. 

The kindly stars beamed on the path of the lonely 
wanderer. They seemed to him like golden letters 
which God the Lord had written upon the heaven; 
and he thought he understood the true sense of 
this writing, when he read in it the love of God 
who makes all things work together for good to them 
that love Him. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


EVIL COUNSEL. 

TV /T OTHER and daughter sat by the light of the 
x candle until far into the night, striving to 
compose their minds after what had taken place. A 
light was also burning till after midnight in the win- 
dow of the tower room in which the Count loved most 
to pass his evenings. 

Here the Count had given a cordial welcome to 
the Father Confessor, whom he nevertheless re- 
proached for having kept away nearly a whole week. 
The friar had become more and more indispensable 
to the Count; and it seemed to the latter as if some- 
thing were lacking, if deprived of the company of 
his visitor only for a single day. The Father had 
excused himself by alleging an accumulation of his 
official duties. The Count, satisfied with these ex- 
cuses, had gone to the closet and taken out his 
chess-board; for his fingers burned for the amuse- 
ment of which he had been deprived so long. But 


EVIL COUNSEL. 


197 


the Confessor had held aloof, intimating that he had 
something of more importance to talk about at this 
time with his penitent. The Count, therefore, obe- 
diently replaced the chess-board in the closet and 
seated himself at the table with the Confessor. 

The altarist now entered upon his inevitable topic, 
which he handled with untiring persistence, the sub- 
ject of heresy. Indeed this topic now occupied all 
other minds as well, and in all places; so that in 
all the beer saloons and workshops, at all the foun- 
tains, and in the public markets, religion was the 
topic of conversation. 

Of late the Count touched upon this subject only 
with reluctance; for it always reminded him afresh 
of the sorrow which had fallen upon his house, and 
the ruin of his domestic happiness, which he felt 
every day more heavily. For all his repeated efforts 
to regain the confidence of his wife and daughter had 
miscarried. He saw himself isolated, and, as it were, 
a stranger in his own house, and in the bosom of his 
family. His lovely flower, Margaretta, was visibly 
withering in silent grief, and his wife growing daily 
more strange in her inner* life; even the other chil- 
dren had had their confidence in their father shaken. 
Under these circumstances he much preferred that 
the conversation should turn upon other subjects, 
rather than on Luther and heresy. Still he accom- 
modated himself submissively, as he always did, to 


198 


COUNT ERBACH. 


the will of his spiritual guide, whose person was 
sacred to him, and his word as it were gospel. 

“ The times daily grow worse,” said the altarist 
peevishly, “ ungodliness gets more and more the 
upper hand. If the Lord God does not soon inter- 
fere, a great overturning may follow: for here, in two 
contests, has the heretic carried awa)' the victory.” 

“In two ?” exclaimed the Count, surprised by the 
unwelcome news and interrupting the flow of the 
Father’s discourse. 

“Yes, in two,” continued the latter with lively 
nods of the head. “ In the first Tetzel was miserably 
unhorsed in his disputation at Frankfort; and what 
still increases the disgrace, is this: the thing was 
done, not at all by Luther himself, but by a beard- 
less youngster whom he had saturated with his thoughts 
and sent to Frankfort. To be sure this loose bird 
was immediately secured and put in a cage, where 
his crowing is likely to be very faint. Yet what 
good will that do ? Luther reaps the fruit of the 
victory all the same, and our cause has received a 
heavy blow. 

“ But this is not the only calamity. Only think of 
it, gracious Sir Count, even on his eminence the Pal- 
ace Minister and General Inquisitor of the Holy Fa- 
ther has the rude bear ventured an attack with his 
claws, and him too has he put to the sword; so 
that everywhere it has caused a great laughter and 


EVIL COUNSEL. 


199 


ridicule, almost as bad as in the days when the Epis- 
tolaz Obscurornm Virontm were published.” — “Sir 
Count,” continued the altarist after sneezing and 
coughing, whilst he drew nearer and fixed upon him 
an intent look, “you see that the beast is not to 
be checked with the tongue, it will have to be done 
with the fist.” 

Count Eberhard nodded his head slowly in med- 
itation, and said, rather to himself than to his visi- 
tor: “Such is also my opinion. Fetters are the fit- 
ting thing for a wild beast. Prison and bonds will 
have to do it. It is the same at any rate as throw- 
ing pearls before swine, if we condescend to op- 
pose with words one who audaciously smites the 
Holy Church in the face. But who is to do it ? The 
Emperor ? But he is old and feeble. The Pope ? 
He lives far away and troubles himself precious lit- 
tle about the actions of the ‘ Barbarians,' as he 
calls the Germans. The only suitable person would 
be the Prince Elector of Saxony, his liege lord. He 
could do it; he ought to do it. But alas, him also 
the bird seems to have bewitched with his song, 
so that he quietly suffers him to flit about and 
sing.” 

The altarist drummed on the surface of the table 
with his thick fleshy fingers and bent forward with 
twinkling eyes. “You are right, Sir Count: from 
the great princes the heretic has nothing to appre- 


200 


COUNT ERBACH. 


liend. Therefore others will have to do it. There 
are, thank God, still brave and true men, who for the 
honor of God and the best interests of the Church 
will venture something. Who were the men that 
silenced that young hero of the tongue at Frank- 
fort and delivered him into a cloister dungeon ? 
Two nobles of the Mark. These have no more 
need of absolution now; for this deed so worthy of 
renown blots out all their sins for time and for 
eternity.” 

The Count passed his hand over his brow and 
asked: “Who are these two?” 

“ I know not their names, but they are written 
in heaven; and the jubilee of the heavenly host 
praises their deed before the throne of God.” 

“Fortunate men,” murmured the Count to himself. 

The altarist observed him closely and said, ac- 
centuating sharply each word: “Greater happiness 
will be the portion of him who destroys the princi- 
pal instrument of Satan.” 

The Count sighed: “ May God soon raise up a 
man who shall venture such a thing.” 

“ Do you esteem that a great venture ? ” asked 
the altarist with a gentle smile of contempt. “Who, 
then, is this Luther? A poor monk, like that Fran- 
ciscan at Frankfort, and still further out of the lower 
ranks of the people.” 

The Count raised significantly his arm: “But 


EVIL COUNSEL. 


201 


with a sharp bite and with eyes like flames of 
fire ? ” 

“Who has told you such a thing?” 

“One hears it everywhere and from the lips of 
all classes.” 

“Ah that is only the effect of distance, which 
gives him a fabulous greatness. If seen near at 
hand, it would shrink away again, and he would be 
found like any other human being.” 

The Count answered nothing and gazed vacantly 
before him like one absorbed in thought. A long 
silence ensued. The altarist opened his lips repeat- 
edly, but did not succeed in bringing out a single 
word; till at last in great uneasiness he rose and 
went to the window. Suddenly, however, he turned 
about with a hasty resolution, stepped up to the Count, 
grasped forcibly his arm, and said in an energetic 
voice: “Sir Count von Erbach, you must do it.” 

Terror-stricken, the Count releasing himself shrunk 
back a little way, and, stretching his arm with out- 
spread fingers toward the father, gazed upon him 
with open mouth and eyes. In this posture he re- 
mained for a minute or two, unable either to speak 
or move. At length, with a mixture of astonish- 
ment and reluctance, he asked: “Are you in ear- 
nest, Speckel ? ” 

The latter, with entire composure, met the look of 
the Count and said: “I am thoroughly in earnest. 


202 


COUNT ERBACH. 


At first view you may reasonably be startled. Yet 
will you think otherwise of the matter when I tell 
my reason for coming to you at this time and so 
late in the evening too. Three days ago the Holy 
Virgin appeared to me in a dream, and showed me 
the heretic bound in a dark dungeon. But you were 
standing behind him and said: ‘Now then, the world 
has rest from you, base child of Satan/ But the 
Holy Virgin approached you in radiant glory, with 
a golden crown in her hand, placed it upon your 
head and blessed you. When I awoke, behold it was 
a dream and I thought no more of it. In the follow- 
ing night, however, came the same vision, and after- 
ward the third time. Then I knew that it was no 
mere illusion, but a revelation from God, as a com- 
mand and a promise for you.” 

The Count felt a cold shiver go through his whole 
frame. All the blood left his face and rushed back 
upon his heart; and it seemed to him as if his heart 
would burst. His knees also trembled so that it was 
difficult for him to stand; and, as if imploring help, 
he stretched his arms in the empty space: “Lord, 
send whom thou wilt send; I am not sufficient for so 
great a work.” 

The altarist’s brow contracted gloomily, his eyes 
glared with an unearthly expression. “Alas! what 
a prayer you utter ! Do penance for such a prayer, 
in order that you may escape the chastisement of 


EVIL COUNSEL. 


203 


God. For a twofold curse will smite him who is 
chosen to a high and important work and cowardly 
shrinks back from the call.” 

The Count seated himself again at the table. His 
left hand fell at his side as if paralyzed, while the 
right supported his bended head. “ I am willing to 
do all that tends to the welfare of the Holy Church 
and my own salvation; this, however, spare me, it 
is too grave and difficult.” 

The altarist stood motionless, as if he had been 
a statue of brass. A still more lurid fire glowed in 
his eyes. “ Sir Count, remember the history of Ju- 
dith and Holofernes. Judith smote down the head 
of an enemy of God, and she was a feeble woman. 
You are a strong man and tremble when called to 
avenge the cause of God on a much worse Holo- 
fernes of our day. But what is it ? Do you think, 
perhaps, that you are required to strangle the here- 
tic ? No, only to seize him and put him in confine- 
ment. Do you call that too hard ? Sir Count, have 
I been so mistaken in regard to your manhood and 
heroism ? In so many contests have you carried off 
the victory, and no one could stand against the fury 
of your sword-cuts; but here do you whine and behave 
yourself like a child ? ” 

The Count raised himself to his full height and 
stepped before the father in a commanding posture. 
“From no other lips would I bear this affront. But 


204 


COUNT ERBACH. 


you are my father confessor towards whom I am 
obliged to restrain my anger and should not forget 
due reverence. Yet I must acknowledge that you 
give me pain by such a reproach of cowardice. For 
truly it is not cowardice which makes me shrink back 
with horror from such a deed. Give me a knight — 
for example Franz Sickingen or Ulric von Hutten 
— whom I am to meet in open field with sword and 
lance, and I will saddle my horse with courage and 
alacrity and go with buoyant heart into the conflict. 
But insidiously to waylay and fall upon an unarmed 
and defenceless man, and to steal upon my victim 
from' an ambuscade — against that every feeling of 
my soul recoils, and my knightly honor rebels.” 

Now the shock was on the side of the altarist. 
He felt that he had gone too far and that he must 
strike another key. Still he understood so thoroughly 
the art of self-control, that the Count did not per- 
ceive his alarm in the least. Approaching the latter 
calmly, he said in a tone of gentle information: “Pas- 
sion obscures your clear judgment, noble Sir Count, 
and I can never assent to your present view. A 
huntsman uses a twofold method in the chase. The 
boar he attacks openly with spear and missive weap- 
ons, for that animal faces him in the fight. But 
he has to come upon the fox by stealth and catch 
him slyly, because the creature flies from him. Is, 
now, this furtive method of the hunters discreditable 


EVIL COUNSEL. 


205 


and disparaging to his honor ? In like manner each 
method is allowable for getting the advantage of a 
heretic; for we ought in every possible way to get 
him in our power, before the obnoxious plant pro- 
duces seed. Has not the Holy Church at all times 
resorted to craft for the purpose of spying out and 
exterminating the brood of heresy, when open force 
accomplished nothing? Are not the Dominicans, who 
are appointed inquisitors, even proud of the significa- 
tion of their name — Domini canes , i. e. y dogs of the 
Lord ? But what the Church has hallowed, that will 
you make a disgrace and think it unworthy of you ? ” 
The Count listened to this speech with surprise 
and amazement, and could not at once find a reply.. 
The altarist, however, who was deeply versed in 
reading the countenances of men, saw that a resolu- 
tion in the Count’s mind was preparing and seized 
the favorable moment to aid it. “ There is now, my 
gracious lord, a tumult in your feelings which con- 
fuses your judgment. You will see the matter differ- 
ently when you have regained your composure. You 
will then perceive that it is not only the honor of 
God which demands of you this service, but also 
your own happiness and safety. For if the heretic 
is first removed from the stage, the whole troop of 
his adherents will be speedily scattered like a flock 
without a shepherd. To him they have sworn fealty, 
and him they have, so to speak, deified. If they once 


206 


COUNT ERBACH. 


see that God does not acknowledge him, they will 
learn to comprehend that they have followed a false 
prophet and turn again, heaping curses upon him 
whom they before blessed. And then ? — Well, I will 
tell you: then one day also will a knight be found 
knocking at your door, ‘Father, take back again to 
your favor a wanderer, and restore to him your daughter 
of whom he made himself unworthy ? ’ And then — 
O then will the clouds of trouble and sorrow which 
overhang your noble soul dissolve; then will your 
tender father-heart beat freely in the sunshine of a 
recovered domestic peace, and in the history of the 
kingdom of God will the name of Erbach shine with 
ineffaceable lustre.” 

During this speech, which was uttered with great 
warmth, the Count had gradually raised his bowed head 
and his countenance brightened. “Father Speckel,” 
he cried, “ it is to me as if in your words I have 
heard the voice of God.” 

“O, I was sure of it,” answered the altarist, with 
carefully suppressed exultation. “ I have not been 
disappointed in you. You are slow and thoughtful 
in your decisions, because you first thoroughly inves- 
tigate; but then you also stand firm and never again 
waver.” 

Yet he had exulted too soon. Again he perceived 
on the Count’s face that same expression of fearful- 
ness and discouragement; he soon learned the cause 


EVIL COUNSEL. 


207 


of it. “That it has to be done,” said the Count, 
“has now become certain to me. But how is it to 
be done ? As soon as this question comes up, my 
heart fails me again. Wittenberg is distant, and the 
number of Luther’s friends there is great; so that 
there is little hope of success in an attempt. But 
if it miscarries, then have I not benefited the cause 
of God but only brought upon it still greater dis- 
grace; for then will the heretic proclaim triumphantly 
to the world: 4 No one is able to do anything against 
me, so now you see God is with me.’ ” 

The altarist grasped the Count’s hand. “ I thank 
God that He has guided your heart to a right de- 
termination. That is the first and highest requisite. 
Be you only first resolved, and God will surely point 
out the way and means by which the work is to be 
carried out. For He knows the plan for all cases. 
If the report which has come to my ear is true, 
then are we already relieved of all anxiety. For I 
have learned from an Augustinian Prior, that a con- 
vention of Augustinians is to be held at Heidelberg, 
at which Luther also has promised to be present. 
If this takes place, then we have in it an intimation 
and finger-point from God that He will give the 
enemy into your hand.” 

The violent strain upon his nervous system and 
feelings had so overmastered the powerful nature 
of the Count, that he was hardly capable of another 


208 


COUNT ERBACH. 


thought. “Let us now go to our repose,” he said 
with a tired voice. 

In a cheerful state of mind the altarist said good- 
night to the Count. But he did not think of sleep 
for a long while. He first prayed an hundred more 
rosaries, which lasted well nigh two hours, and then 
sat a while longer absorbed in reflection. Not until 
near morning did he stretch himself upon the bed 
without undressing and sink into a kind of slumber. 
At the first stir of life in the court next morning, 
he left the Castle, without visiting the Count. He 
wished to leave him time for his courage to ripen. 

Early in the following week he brought the in- 
formation that Luther would really travel; and he 
found, to his great satisfaction, the Count firmly re- 
solved. He spread his two hands over him and said 
in a barytone voice with deep unction: “May God 
bless the work of your hands, noble Count; O how 
gratefully will the whole of Christendom look towards 
the man who delivers the Church from her deadliest 
enemy; and the Holy Father will hasten to send 
you the consecrated rose, which ordinarily rewards 
only the merits of princes and kings. Moreover, in 
heaven above, the crown of life for you is sure.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 

“TS it really so, that Dr. Martinus intends to trav- 
el ? ” inquired one morning, shortly after the 
feast of Easter, Frederick, Prince Elector of Saxony, 
of his confidential friend, the court preacher, Spa- 
latinus. 

The person to whom the question was addressed 
nodded assent with a troubled look. “Much have 
his friends urged him and besought him to spare 
himself and not to deliver himself into the jaws of 
his adversaries. I have also gone to him and im- 
plored him by my friendship to remain; for more 
and more venomous does the hatred ot his enemies 
foam out against him, so that the journey is not 
without grave scruples. But this Martinus is a re- 
markable man. Like a knight without fear and re- 
proach, he stands and laughs at our anxiety. Truly, 
I have never yet seen a man of such faith. He is just 


210 


COUNT ERBACH. 


like the idea I have of the Apostle Paul, whom Lu- 
ther also loves and cherishes above all the other 
apostles.” 

This strain pleased the Prince Elector well; for 
he also had begun to hold Luther in esteem, and to 
look upon him with reverence as a man in whom all 
the great qualities were found harmoniously blended 
in one attractive whole. His fame also resounded 
more and more distinctly through the world, and 

made the university of Wittenberg a luminous ob- 

ject, so that scarcely any more room was found for 
the crowd of students. “ Do not restrain him,” said 
the Prince Elector, “ for the Lord will bestow His 
grace upon the journey. Only those hate Luther 
who do not know him. If they see and hear him 
for themselves, they will also attach themselves to 
him. This, however, I lay on your conscience, my 

good Spalatinus, that you keep an eye upon him, 

and do not let him be detained and kept away, but 
return home immediately after the Convention has 
been held; for we cannot spare him longer from our 
university. Also he must not go alone: assign him 
a courier who shall accompany him to Wuerzburg. 
I myself also will give him a letter of reception to 
the kastner at Coburg, as also to the Bishop of 
Wuerzburg and the Count Palatine Wolfgang.” 

“ God reward your Prince Electoral Grace for such 
kindnesses; and may they also return in copious 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 


2 1 1 


blessing upon yourself,’’ said Spalatinus deeply moved; 
and immediately left his master to appoint the courier. 

It was on Monday after Quasimodogeniti, the nth 
of April, in the year 1518, that Luther, surrounded 
by his truest friends and followed by a guide, emerged 
from the Elster gate of the city of Wittenberg. He 
was escorted a considerable distance, even to the vil- 
lage of Pratau. Here leave was taken of him, which 
lasted somewhat long; for the friends found all the 
time something more to say, or to ask, some of them 
also had silent tears in their eyes and spoke in a sor- 
rowful tone as if the separation was for good and all, 
without hope of seeing each other again. They gazed 
long after him, till he vanished from their sight be- 
hind the houses of the village. 

While, however, his friends were sorrowful and de- 
spondent, Luther himself was very cheerful and buoy- 
ant. It was a glorious, sunbright, genial spring-day. 
Nature revived from the winter slumber, the valleys 
began to look green, in the meadows golden cowslips 
were already bursting into flower, and here and there 
by the way, the blue violet diffused its fragrance, on 
the willows hung the yellow catkins musical with 
bees, the larks were already full of the animation of 
spring, and trilled their songs with artistic skill in 
the mild atmosphere. The heart of the whole world 
dilated, and so did that of Dr. Martinus. He drew 
deep and full inspirations, as though he would sate 


212 


COUNT ERBACH. 


himself with the pure, spicy air of spring, and his eyes 
feasted with a pleasing satisfaction on the prospect. 

“ How charming the spring is ! ” he said to his 
guide, palace attendant of the Prince Elector, Sebas- 
tian Rink, whom Spalatin had sent from Torgau. 
“What a wonderful being after all is our Father 
God ! One does not really know whither to look 
first and what is most worthy of admiration. Men 
pass along unconscious, have eyes, but see not; and 
yet whithersoever one directs his view, he comes 
upon a wonder of God. Reason can neither under- 
stand nor comprehend how it comes to pass, that 
from a small seed a large tree grows, from a little 
grain of wheat, which dissolves and perishes in the 
earth, come twenty or thirty grains. In fact, the 
earth is full of wonders which are taking place with- 
out ceasing. Yet because they are so many, well 
nigh innumerable, and also are so common, men make 
no account of them, in fact do not even think about 
them. Our Saviour Christ once fed five thousand per- 
sons with five loaves of bread; and when they were 
all full, twelve baskets of fragments remained. If 
now such a miracle should take place, all the world 
would be astonished and say, as those men did: ‘This 
is certainly the prophet that should come into the 
world.’ But that God daily and without ceasing does 
wonders, carnal hearts do not see and consider, and 
much less are thankful to Him for it. God the Lord 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 


213 


gives water out of the rock, out of the sand, bread, 
wine, butter and cheese, out of the earth every 
kind of plant and fruit, gold, silver, salt and more 
of the same kind. But men see it every day, and 
therefore it is no wonder to them. But Thou, O 
Lord, art a God that doeth wonders; praised be 
Thy holy name. Alas ! for whom, then, hast Thou 
made all these things ? For whom do the birds 
sing ? For whom does the butterfly spread its 
painted wings? For whom does the forest rustle, 
and the springs of water gush out ? For whom 
does the grass clothe the earth with its mantle of 
green, and the waving corn ripen ? For whom are 
cellars and garners richly stored ? Is it not for man 
Thy hand prepares all this ? O what is man, that 
Thou art so mindful of him, or the son of man, that 
Thou so regardest him ? ” 

By the roadside bloomed a little violet, to which 
the Doctor stooped down, and with which he talked 
as with a living being. “O lovely little violet ! What 
a beautiful blue eye you have ! you look upon me as 
though you would speak to me a greeting from the 
blessed God. What a delightful fragrance you have, 
as if an angel had kissed you. Yes, and you have 
really a tear in your eye, too. Have you been weep- 
ing ? No doubt you have just performed your morn- 
ing devotion, and your eye overflowed with the Crea- 
tor’s goodness. Ah ! He who made you is exceedingly 


214 


COUNT ERBACH. 


great. If a man were able to do that — only to make 
a single violet — one ought to bestow upon him an 
empire.” 

The simple minded Sebastian watched the actions 
of the great and learned Doctor with mute astonish- 
ment, and shook his head with a gentle smile. Fi- 
nally he said, “Well, Sir Doctor, can you bend 
yourself over such an insignificant thing ? I supposed 
you would see nothing beyond your books, as the 
learned gentlemen usually do, who forget the whole 
world over their yellow parchments.” 

Luther said to him with a pleasant smile: “ The 
Lord our God has two books, in which He has writ- 
ten His wisdom and goodness, and in which He re- 
veals Himself as He is. One of these books is Holy 
Scripture. In it is recorded, in black and white: God 
so loved the world that He gave His only begotten 
Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not 
perish, but have everlasting life. The other book 
is Nature. It is a picture book with only various 
colors, green, red, blue, yellow and white. There is 
also much golden embellishment in it — the lovely stars 
in the blue firmament, the silver moon, and the sun 
in royal splendor. There, again, is recorded what 
a good and loving Father we have in heaven, who 
fills our hearts with food and gladness, who always 
cares for us, suffers us to want nothing, or rather 
opens His loving hand and blesses us above all that 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 


215 


we ask or think. But though He suffer us to want 
no good thing, we allow ourselves to be wanting 
in faith or trust, and hang our heads in dark and 
gloomy care, as if the blessed God had fallen asleep 
or were actually dead. Really we might well humble 
ourselves in comparison with the fowls, which our 
Lord presents as our instructors, that we should fol- 
low their example. See, my good comrade ! there 
flies a little bird over us, little to our credit that 
we might well take off our humble hat to it and say: 
My dear Sir Doctor, I am really obliged to acknowl- 
edge that I have not the skill which you have. 
You sleep all the night long in your little nest 
without any care. In the morning you rise again, 
are cheerful and contented, sit on a branch of the 
tree and sing praise and thanks to God, after that 
seek your daily food and find it too. Fie ! what 
have I, weak man that I am, learned that I do not 
that which I have still so much more cause for ? 
Can the little bird dismiss its cares, and yet has 
neither field nor barn, storehouse nor cellar; it sings 
and praises God, is cheerful and contented, for it 
knows that it has One who cares for it, who is called 
our Father in heaven. — Why, then, do we not like- 
wise, we who have this advantage that we are able 
to labor, to cultivate the field, to gather in the 
fruits, to store up and preserve for our need ? — My 
friends have had a heavy heart in parting from me, 


21 6 


COUNT ERBACH. 


and tried to make my heart heavy too with cares 
and anxieties. Ah, you dear little bird up there on 
the bough, I will humble myself in your presence and 
never be anxious again, but rather believe and trust. 
O Lord, my heavenly Father, I am in Thy hand; 
therefore no enemy can have any power against me.” 

Sebastian said with deep feeling, “Ah, reverend 
Doctor, how good it is to travel in company with 
you ! What a fine eye you have, that you see what 
one of us daily stumbles over without seeing it at 
all. How richly, too, you are able to explain it to 
one in terms we understand; so that the everyday 
world begins to be full of life when you throw light 
upon it.” 

“O my dear comrade,” replied Luther, “I can 
only lisp and stammer when I speak of God’s works; 
for His thoughts are so high that a created mind 
cannot find them out, like a mole which would ex- 
plore a field. But if this terrestrial world has been 
made so beautiful, rich and glorious, what must be 
the Paradise which God has planted in the world 
above. That which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, 
neither hath entered into the heart of man, God hath 
prepared for those who love Him.” 

With steadily increasing reverence and devotion 
did his guide look upon the Doctor. “When you 
speak of Almighty God,” said he, “it has a very 
different ring from what the priests say of Him, 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 


217 


They portray God like an imperfect man, with a 
stern, gloomy countenance; and from my childhood 
up, I have trembled before Him; my heart is glad, 
and I am no longer afraid, rather I could love Him 
from my heart.” 

“ Do you really now love Him from your heart, 
my good friend ? ” said Luther, laying his hand upon 
the shoulder of Sebastian. “ Still you must not go 
too fast. True and genuine love proceeds only from 
a knowledge of sin and a thorough repentance. Do 
you believe that you are a sinner ? ” 

“ Ah, how should I not believe that ? I have at 
least already shed many tears on that account.” 

“ But do you believe also that God forgives sins, 
and of His grace absolves us freely of all for Christ’s 
sake ? ” 

Sebastian looked at the Doctor earnestly and in- 
credulously. “ Freely ? All freely ? Sir Doctor, is 
that really so ? Yet the priests have never so taught 
me. Must we not, at any rate, buy off and deserve 
everything ? ” 

Luther made a gesture of disapproval and waxed 
warm in his feelings. “ Purchase forgiveness of sins! 
Have you so much gold ? Obtain heaven in your own 
merit ! Have you strength enough ? If you have 
not, what then ? Then simply lie down in despair.” 

‘‘Ah, Sir Doctor,” continued Sebastian with much 
emotion, “can you, then, read my soul ? How came 


218 


COUNT ERBACH. 


you to know, then, that such thoughts have already 
many times driven me to despair, when I saw that 
all my virtue was a figment, and all my good works 
a make-believe, with which I could never appear be- 
fore God?” 

“How did I come by the knowledge! Because 
you are a man, and all men have a disordered will; 
so that they are obliged to say with St. Paul: To 
will is present with me, but how to perform that 
which is good, I find not. Still, be quite easy, my 
dear comrade. You must not despair, but believe 
the Gospel, which points out the help for you. It 
shows you a man who walked upon the earth pure 
and without sin, and poured out His holy blood upon 
the cross. That blood is the redemption price for 
all our sins. A single drop of that blood outweighs 
the heaviest guilt. Were you a fratricide like Cain, 
an adulterer like David, a foot-pad like the thief 
on the cross — the blood of Jesus would Christ cleanse 
from all your sins. If you can only believe on Him 
who came into the world to save sinners, truly and 
firmly believe, and put your whole trust and confi- 
dence in Him; then He gives to you, who have no 
righteousness of your own, His righteousness and 
invests you with it as a garment. If, too, invested 
with such a robe, you appear before God, you are 
acceptable to Him, and He forgives you all your 
sins. But if He has given you such a gift, which 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 


219 


is altogether unspeakable — is it not, my dear com- 
rade ? — then are you reconciled to Him, and can 
love Him sincerely and fervently.” 

Sebastian looked up wistfully at the Doctor: “ Ah 
speak on, reverend Sir. I cannot hear enough from 
your lips. Such words go gently and sweetly into 
my soul, like virgin honey. But do you really know 
of a certainty that it holds good as you say ? ” 

Luther raised his eyes toward heaven with devout 
earnestness: “I thank Thee, my dear heavenly Father, 
that Thou hast graciously revealed it to me by Thy 
Holy Spirit.” Turning to his attendant, he continued: 
“ Dear friend, I speak of that which I have experi- 
enced, and testify of that which has come to pass 
in my own heart. Not all at once and in a single 
day did I learn my theology, nor at an easy price; 
but I had first to go through much doubt and conflict. 
Before that I also saw God the Lord with your eyes, 
and His righteousness was to me a word of terror. 
I also tormented myself with good works and severe 
penance, if possible to find peace of conscience; but 
though prostrated again and again from exhaustion 
and thought to be dying, yet after all I never found 
that which I sought with so many pangs. Often,' 
when standing before the altar and reading mass, 
it was with difficulty that I kept from running away 
from the altar, so great was my fear of God and 
the sense of my unworthiness. I betook myself from 


220 


COUNT ERBACH. 


such torments of conscience to all the patron saints 
that they might help me. But they answered me 
not; rather my distress continually increased. Then, 
one day, Doctor Staupitz entered my cell, where I was 
again lying stretched upon the ground, as it were life- 
less, and moaning: my sins ! my sins ! my sins ! That 
good man called out to me: 'I believe in the for- 
giveness of sins. Brother Martinus, you wish to be 
free from sins, and yet have really no grave sins. 
Christ forgives flagrant sins, such as parricide, blas- 
phemy, adultery, theft, and the like. These are real 
sins. You must have a record of actual sins, if Christ 
is to give you help. You want to be an ideal sin- 
ner, and to have an imaginary Christ for a Saviour. 
You must be content for Christ to be a real Saviour 
and you a true sinner.’ O my dear comrade, it was 
then in my experience as if a small star shone forth 
in my darkness. I searched in the Scripture day 
and night, after I had secretly procured that book 
from the convent-library, and lo, there I found it 
written, quite plainly and distinctly written, that 
God justifies a sinner in Christ by grace, without 
the merit of works. Then, too, I comprehended what 
is meant by the righteousness of God: it is the right- 
eousness which God gives to the sinner through faith. 
For he that believes on the Son, is regarded by 
the Father as righteous, as it is written: The just 
shall live by faith.” 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 


221 


Sebastian grasped the Doctor by his cowl, and as 
if he would look through him, said: “ That is actu- 
ally and truly found in the Bible ? Ah, then, is all 
that which the priests say really not true ? ” 

“ O, if you only could examine for yourself,” ex- 
claimed Luther, “you would then see what men 
have made of the Word of God.” 

In this way the conversation was continued, and 
the two travellers got onward so expeditiously that 
they took not the least note of the time. At noon 
they made a halt at a country inn. Sebastian took 
bread and smoked meat from the wallet, but Luther 
also drew from his pocket a little flask of red wine, 
which his friend Lucas Kranach had given him. 
Wine at that day was a rare drink; only on the 
tables of the more wealthy sparkled the juice of the 
grape in the goblets. Burghers, mechanics, and also 
scholars contented themselves with beer. The artist, 
Lucas Kranach, was a very wealthy man, and as he 
was now in high favor at the court of the Prince 
Elector, he had an ample source from which to draw 
his supply of wine; for the Prince Elector’s butler 
furnished him liberally from the stores which he pro- 
cured in the south of France. 

Luther in a cheerful temper poured the noble be- 
verage into a goblet which the landlord brought. 
“Wine maketh glad the heart of man; let us, then, 
refresh ourselves with the noble gift of God,” he 


222 


COUNT ERBACH. 


said, and after a fervent thanksgiving drank to his 
companion. He also ate his food with a hearty rel- 
ish and was as jovial as if he had been seated at an 
emperor’s table. 

Sebastian sat and looked at him intently, as if 
Luther were a maiden to whom he was about to 
make a declaration of love. He availed himself of 
a pause which occurred in the conversation to re- 
mark: “Ah, Sir Doctor, ydu are very peculiar for a 
pious man. How are you able to be so buoyant 
and playful ? ” 

Luther looked at him with surprise. “ Well now, 
my dear comrade, do you think that to be pious 
demands all the time a morose look and sighs, and 
grief? Verily, when I was still a real monk, my 
state of mind was always like a gloomy November 
day, and I thought that laughing was a sin; for I 
was afraid of God, whom I did not yet rightly 
know. But now, when I know Him as my dear Fa- 
ther in Christ, why should I still be a peevish fel- 
low and only sigh and groan all the time ? Must I 
not much rather without ceasing rejoice and sing ? 
Is God for me, who then can be against me ? Is God 
my dear Father? well then I am His child; and a 
child is always of good cheer. Therefore also the 
Apostle says: Rejoice in the Lord always, and 
again I say rejoice.” 

Sebastian gazed with almost a look of envy on 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 


223 


the Doctor’s face, beaming as it was with conscious 
peace and joy, and said: “ Who could be just as 
you are ? ” 

Luther patted his companion kindly on the shoul- 
der: “Are you not also what I am — a man? Does 
not the love of God seek you also, as well as me ? 
Only go the way that I have gone, and you, too, 
will learn to laugh and sing.” 

After a short rest, they set forward on their way. 
The first day all went on very well. On the second 
day, however, the Doctor’s limbs began to pain him. 
He had pored over his books so much, and was so 
unused to travelling. But within his soul was joyful 
and made light of bodily weakness, so that his guide 
had one cause of astonishment after another. 

On the third day they reached Weissenfels and 
found hospitable entertainment at the house of a 
clergyman. After that in Judenbach they were met 
by Pfeffinger, the confidential adviser of the Prince 
Elector, whom they welcomed more cordially than 
Abraham once did the three angels. Luther was be- 
yond measure genial and attracted all hearts to him. 
The Prince Elector’s Councillor was especially de- 
lighted at the playful humor of Luther when he 
said: “What a good work I have done, by making 
a rich lord the poorer by a few groschen, such an 
act may well be repaid me in heaven.” Pfeffinger 
entertained them at the inn. 


224 


COUNT ERBACH. 


They now went on to Coburg, and Luther was 
as merry as a child with delight at the splendid 
beauty of the Thuringian landscape. He also vied 
with the birds in many a song among the lofty fir 
trees. This was a rare enjoyment to Sebastian; for 
Doctor Martinus had a clear and lovely voice. Their 
progress, too, became more rapid; for in everything 
practice makes perfect, so also in travelling. 

From Coburg, where Luther delivered a sermon 
to an unexampled concourse of people, the journey 
continued to Wuerzburg, the point to which his guide 
was to bear him company. Luther said: “ It is to 
me a special joy to see the town of Wuerzburg, for 
there dwells a Bishop who also loves the Gospel. I 
have, too, in my wallet a letter of commendation to 
him from the gracious Prince Elector.” 

On Saturday, when the bells were ringing for ves- 
pers, the two travellers entered the fine old city 
and made inquiry for the episcopal palace. 

“Are you Luther?” asked the gatekeeper, as 
they rapped at the door with the metal knocker. 

When an affirmative answer followed, the old keep- 
er opened promptly, and said in a respectful tone : 
“ Enter, then, quickly. His Grace, the Bishop, has 
received news of your approach, and already the 
second time has sent to inquire whether you were 
not yet in sight.” 

The good Sebastian was very sorrowful as he 


SUCCESS TO THE JOURNEY. 


225 


reached his hand to the Doctor for the farewell, 
and said: “ If his Grace, the Prince Elector, were here 
on the spot, I would certainly beg him for permis- 
sion to go further with you, reverend Sir Doctor. 
For never in my whole life has my soul been so 
happy as in your company. Go forward then, in 
the name of God. I will also pray for you, that 
you may return home again without injury or peril; 
for now, all at once, my heart becomes full of de- 
spondency and has a presentiment of evil.” 

“Do you begin to pipe that tune, too?” said Lu- 
ther, smiling, at the same time shaking cordially 
the hand of his fellow-traveller. “ Be quite easy, 
my dear comrade — I am just as lighthearted as a 
little bird in May.” 


CHAPTER XIX, 


ON AN EVIL WAY. 


N the 19th of April in the same year a horse- 



man from the little town of Miltenberg was 
galloping along the road toward Castle Fuerstenau, 
and spurring his horse till the sweat ran and the 
sparks flew. Father Johannes Speckel had given 
him the strict charge to make the utmost haste 
in his power. 

The horseman was Sir Hans von Kollenberg, one 
of the feudatories of the Count von Erbach, who 
had since yesterday ridden all the way from Milten- 
berg to Wuerzburg as a spy, since it became rumored 
that Martin Luther was the guest of Bishop Lorenz 
of Wuerzburg. His espionage, however, had been 
fruitless; for Luther, conducted by two of the Bishop’s 
servants along a forest path, had entered the town 
of Miltenberg, and was already two hours in the 
place when Hans von Kollenberg returned, for whom 
Father Speckel was waiting in feverish desire. He, 
too, had to make haste that the Count might receive 


ON AN EVIL WAY. 


227 


timely intelligence; for he was not sure whether Lu- 
ther would tarry in Miltenberg till the following day. 

It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. In 
the stables at Fuerstenau twelve horses were stand- 
ing saddled and bridled; and since an early hour 
of the morning liegemen of the Count were seen 
moving about the castle court in full accoutrement. 
Even yesterday there had been a lively whisper and 
stir among them; and the Count, too, was thor- 
oughly restless, had not touched food at dinner to-day, 
and had stood much on the watch tower looking out 
as though he were expecting some one. 

In the Kemnate Countess Maria was standing by 
the window with her daughter Margaretta. “ What 
can be going on ? ” said the mother. “ This whole 
day I have seen the men in coats of mail, I wonder 
if there is some disturbance on foot ? I feel anxious 
lest father has some dispute to settle with Franz 
Sickingen. I have a feeling of gloom and depression 
upon my heart, as if some calamity were about to 
happen. Last night, too, I had very distressing 
dreams and slept but little.” 

“Look, there goes father across the court!” 
exclaimed Margaretta, interrupting her mother’s 
words. “ How impulsive his movement and his face 
so flushed ! Poor father, has joy forsaken him, too’, 
since the happiness of my life vanished ? ” 

“ There comes Kollenberg in this direction,” ex- 


228 


COUNT ERBAgH. 


claimed the Countess, pointing with her outstretched 
arm towards the castle gate. “ His horse is dripping 
with sweat, and your father is hurrying to meet 
him. Where can Daniel be, I wonder ? I must 
find out what is on hand, for the pressure of anxiety 
upon my heart increases all the time.” 

“ I will bring him hither, dear mother,” replied 
Margaretta, and was out of the door at the same 
moment. 

“Daniel, what is in the wind!” hastily asked 
the Countess, addressing the old man as the latter 
entered the Kemnate. * 

The servant shook his head ominously, and mur- 
mured: “ It may be a bad piece of business; for never 
before have I seen my gracious master in such un- 
easiness and heat.” 

» 

Just then was heard the grating noise of the draw- 
bridge as it was let down, and the horsemen sprang 
across it in a sharp trot. 

They had ridden about an hour when the Count 
ordered a halt. “ Since we do not know into which 
road Luther will strike — whether down the Main by 
way of Aschaffenburg, or by way of Amorbach 
through the Odenwald,— it is necessary to divide 
our forces into two small bands. You, therefore, 
Hans von Kollenberg and Echter von Mespelbrunn, 
ride with six men to the left and station yourselves 
in the little forest between Woerth and Obernburg 


ON AN EVIL WAY. 


229 


and lie in ambush. If you seize him take him in 
profound secrecy to the monastery Hoechst. Great, 
however, will be your reward if you bag the game; I 
myself will lead the other troop by way of Amorbach.” 

The troop was divided, and the men rode away 
in profound silence. 

The darkness was already setting in when the 
Count with his men was trotting over the Eulbach 
heights, and here and there the people of the village 
in the valley below were lighting a candle. It was 
an uncomfortable ride over these heights, which were 
infested by the robber gentry, and from the lurking 
places of which Count Eberhard had already made 
several r'dds upon the highwaymen. The riders cau- 
tiously turned their eyes right and left and had their 
swords drawn, in order to be ready for any emer- 
gency. As yet everything was quiet; only now and 
then was heard through the forest the screech of 
a night owl rousing itself to flight. 

In his impatience the Count was all the time 
some distance in advance of his followers, and has- 
tening their speed. As they reached the water-mill 
on the Mudau, the sounds of a bell were heard in 
the direction of Miltenberg. The miller, who was 
just at that moment standing in the door, called 
out to the Count as he was passing by: “Well, Sir 
Count, has Luther brought you, too, to your feet ? 
Do you also mean to hear him preach ? ” 


230 


COUNT ERBACII. 


The Count brought up his horse with a pull so 
sudden and violent that he fairly pranced. “ What 
is that you say ? Has any one opened a pulpit to 
him ? ” 

“ Certainly, gracious Sir,” replied the miller. “To 
be sure, the altarist Speckel, your Grace’s Confessor, 
made a violent opposition to the Wittenberg re- 
former, but without success. The secular priest in 
Miltenberg, Johannes Drako, is favorable to Luther, 
and together with the town Council received the 
visitor with every honor. There has also been all 
day long a dense throng of people in the city, 
as if it were a great festival or annual fair.” 

The Count bit his lips in order to suppress an 
imprecation, and rode forward without a good-bye. 
As the road entered a small wood, the Count or- 
dered a halt and allowed his men to come up. “ Here 
is the place where you are to remain lying in wait. 
But I will ride into the town and seek intelligence. 
Do not leave this place of concealment until I myself 
return to you.” Thereupon he galloped forward. 

The riders dismounted from their horses and tied 
them to the trees. 

“ How long shall we have to lie here ? ” asked one 
of them a little out of humor. “The night is getting 
cold, and I feel now already a chill creeping over 
my spine. The Count might have let me stay at 
home too; because for three days past there has 


ON AN EVIL WAY. 


231 


been a stiffness in my limbs like lead, as though a 
sickness were coming on. Samuel, have you not 
a drink along with you ? ” 

The man addressed shook regretfully his head: 

“ I forgot it. A swallow would really do me good, 
too, after the sharp ride. It is a disagreeable busi- 
ness, to waylay a poor monk. It is no particular 
honor for a brave knight to pounce like a footpad 
upon a defenceless man from an ambuscade.” 

“Be silent, Samuel,” said a third. “You know 
nothing about it. It is no ordinary monk that we 
are to catch, and our ride is more endurable than 
if it were against Sickingen or some such gentleman. 
You heard the Count our master promise us a hand- 
some reward in case we caught Luther; and the 
Count always keeps his word.” 

Colder and colder became the evening; and the 
horses impatiently stamped the soft moss-covered 
ground. From Miltenberg the lights glimmered softly 
through the darkness, and the night cradled the 
weary earth to sleep. The horsemen, too, could 
hardly keep their eyes open; but they did not venture 
to stretch themselves upon the ground. As, how- 
ever, one hour after another ran on, they resolved 
to get some sleep, and to leave the watch to one 
of their number by turns. They might all have slept 
quietly: for the Count did not come. 


CHAPTER XX. 


OVERCOME. 



l HE Count von Erbach had ridden to the little 


city at a brisk trot. Already at a distance he 
was struck with the brilliant illumination of the city 
gate. Over the arch were burning twenty torches, 
which illuminated, with their glaring red light, an 
inscription executed in large and uncouth letters: 


The word of God by Luther taught 
Satan never can bring to naught. 


Again the poor horse got the spurs in his flanks, 
until he panted and groaned. 

On the streets of the town the Count was obliged 
to hold a firm and tight rein; for a densely crowded 
throng of people obstructed the riding. He soon 
perceived from the conversation of the people, that 
they were coming from the church. 

“That can be no ordinary human being,” said a 
cooper; “for his speech sounds like the words of 


OVERCOME. 


233 


an angel, and one can comprehend each word he 
utters/’ 

“ Have I not always said it,” remarked an old man 
with a foreign accent. “ Have I not always said, 
that it is no empty invention which my fathers, the 
Bohemian Brethren, have from generation to gener- 
ation reported as a prophecy, for consolation in their 
distress, that Johannes Huss when dying saw a swan 
which after a hundred years should sing his song 
and which men should never burn ? Truly, if this 
Luther is not that swan, then I do not know whom 
we are still to expect. But I will send my son to my 
brethren in Bohemia, to say to them: Be of good 
cheer, and fear not; the shame of Johannes Huss shall 
be turned to honor, and from you also will the curse 
of heresy depart, for the swan is come.” 

The hand of the Count convulsively twitched. He 
would have liked to draw his sword; and the more 
excited hi» feelings became, the more complete- 
ly he became entangled in the throng, and was 
obliged to hear every moment some new praise 
of Luther. 

At length, with great difficulty, he succeeded in 
making his way to the inn with the sign of The 
Sword. The landlord, Nikol Uhrig, who had espied 
him through the window, was obligingly at hand 
and helped him from his horse. “Well now, my 
worshipful Sir Count, are you also in Miltenberg ? 


234 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Has Luther bewitched you too ? I should never have 
believed . . . 

“ Be silent, old fool,” said the Count in a tone 
of authority, cutting short the poor man’s exclama- 
tions. '‘Show me, if you please, a room in your 
house, and prepare me a little supper.” 

The landlord started back in terror, and stam- 
mered amid polite bowing: “Excuse me, gracious 
Sir Count ! Excuse me, if you please.” He then 
led the way for the Count, showed him his chamber, 
and rushed heels over head to the kitchen to prepare 
the evening repast. 

In the course of an hour, as he entered the 
chamber with a lighted candle and a silver plate 
for the Count, he found the latter stretched on the 
bed, in full armor, half asleep. The sharp ride in 
the air, and the tumult in his feelings, had made 
him tired. 

The landlord crept on his toes to the table, not 
to awaken the sleeper, set the dish and candle down, 
and disappeared. 

After some hours the Count opened his eyes and 
looked about in the chamber. He then perceived 
on the table the supper and tasted it, but it was 
cold. From this he discovered that he must have 
been sleeping. The fatigue, however, had now left 
him. He paced up and down in the room absorbed 
in thought and muttered softly to himself. It had 


OVERCOME. 


235 


become too close for him in the small apartment; he 
threw open the window and looked out into the night. 

Some one has said, that the night is no man’s 
friend; and in this there is also a measure of truth. 
Under cover of the night, crime makes its stealthy 
movements and overpowers from behind the unsus- 
pecting; in the night, conscience gnaws, with a fang 
doubly sharp, the evil-doer; in the night, a sick man 
feels with twofold weight his malady and sighs for 
the light of the blessed sun. Yet after all the night 
has another influence. It has become so calm and 
quiet on the earth; all the noise of the day is hushed; 
so many tears are dry in the eyes which are sealed 
in slumber; so much censure and calumny become 
silent — all close the weary eyes and seek strength 
for the labor of a new day. If, too, a soul still wakes, 
it then finds refuge, after the distraction of the day, 
in calm and deliberate converse with itself; all the 
conflict of thought, all the fluctuations of feeling, 
blend and harmonize; there comes over it a state 
at once so gentle, tender, and peaceful, that weal 
and woe seem to mingle in its consciousness and it 
dissolves in a blissful awe. If, moreover, the silver 
moon is then in the sky and pours her pale, dreamy 
light over the sleeping world; it seems as though 
a heavenly ray were spanning the mighty distance, 
on which the angels of God are making their silent 
visits of mercy to earth. 


236 


COUNT ERBACH. 


Lost in such dream-thoughts, the Count stood look- 
ing out aimless into the night. In his eyes had died 
away the fierce glow of the preceding day, and a pen- 
sive smile played about his mouth. He seemed to 
have entirely forgotten what had brought him hither. 
His thoughts were at home with his loved ones. He 
saw the wan face of his daughter and his dejected 
wife. Never before had their sorrow cut him to the 
heart so deeply as to-night, when he was so far away 
from them. His thoughts went back still further to 
the time when peace and joy yet fixed their abode 
in the Castle Fuerstenau, in which he was a happy 
husband and father. He drew a deep and heavy 
sigh. “Wherefore is this heartfelt sorrow come up- 
on me ? Are the saints inimical to me, that I am 
so chastised ? He felt something moist in his eyes: 
two great tears had stolen from the eyes of the strong 
man. Instinctively, as it were, he folded his hands, 
his eyes were lifted to where the silver moon floated 
in the clear sky, and one of those prayers ascended 
to the throne of God which find no words adequate 
to express them but flow from the heart in unut- 
tered sighs and are often the best of all human 
prayers. 

Long, very long had he stood thus. The watch- 
man’s horn had blown the hour again and again — 
midnight must have been already past. 

Just then a light was struck in the corner room 


OVERCOME. 


237 


of the neighboring house. “Very likely a sick per- 
son is lying there, who cannot sleep,” thought the 
Count who kept his eyes fixed upon the bright ob- 
ject. Yet it was not long until he heard a voice: 
“Grant this, O God, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
Amen.” 

It was a deep, sonorous male voice, which in the 
quiet night was quite audible; for the upper window 
from which it proceeded was quite near. Now, too, 
the Count recognized the figure of a man who was 
sitting by the table, turning the leaves of a book 
over which he bent while he said: “ In Thee, O Lord, 
do I put my trust; save me from all them that perse- 
cute me, and deliver me; lest he tear my soul like a lion, 
rending it in pieces, while there is none to deliver. 
O Lord, my God, if I have done this, and there is 
iniquity in my hands; if I have rewarded evil unto 
him that was at peace with me, or harmed one who 
without cause was mine enemy; then let the enemy 
persecute my soul, and take it, and tread my life up- 
on the earth, and lay mine honor in the dust. Selah. 
Arise, O Lord, in Thine anger, lift up Thyself above 
the rage of mine enemies, and help me again in the 
work which Thou hast entrusted to me, in order that 
the people may gather themselves to Thee again. 
My defence is with God, who helpeth the godly in 
heart. God is a righteous judge, and a God who is 
angry daily. I will thank the Lord for His righteous-. 


238 


COUNT ERBACH. 


ness, and will praise the name of the Lord, the Most 
High. Selah.” 

The Count now saw the man lay the book out of 
his hands and bend his knees on the floor. Where- 
upon the prayer again began: 

“O Thou, my loving heavenly Father, Almighty 
God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Behold, 
how great is still the distress which at this time has 
come upon Thy holy Church. How bold are the un- 
godly in their designs, and open their mouths wide 
against those who fear Thy name and have delight 
in Thy testimonies ! How fearful and desponding 
are the little band of the pious, and humble them- 
selves before the might and fraud of the wicked foe ! 
How do the heathen rage, and the kings of the 
earth take counsel against the Lord and His anoint- 
ed ! Those who are set for guides of the poor 
people are their seducers, and those who ought to 
keep watch upon the walls of Zion are lying asleep. 
Those who should teach pervert Thy holy word, 
seek their own honor, and strive for earthly gain. 
The shepherds feed not the flock, but take the' fleece. 
O Thou my God, stand by me against all worldly 
reason and wisdom, that Thy truth may again shine 
forth as a pure clear light. Thou seest that I can 
do nothing without Thee; but through Thee I can 
do all things, if Thou art mighty by Thy strength 
in my weakness. Thou must do the work; Thou 


OVERCOME. 


239 


also wilt do it, for the cause is not mine, but Thine; 
otherwise I should very gladly have sat still and 
sought comfortable repose without any conflicts. 
The zeal of Thy house hath consumed me that 
I cannot refrain from, bearing testimony of Thee 
and Thy truth. I put not my trust in men who can- 
not help me; not even in princes, for they are but 
dust. I cast myself upon Thee alone; Thou art my 
refuge continually, my rock, my castle, my deliverer. 
O my God, be not silent to my prayer. O Thou who 
art full of compassion, and whose mercy is ever- 
lasting, whose ear is ever open and whose heart 
breaks to Thy creatures, so that Thou must take 
compassion on them; dost Thou now sleep that 
Thou answerest me not ? Or can it be that Thou 
art dead ? No, Thou art not dead, but art the liv- 
ing God. Neither dost Thou slumber and sleep, 
Thou faithful keeper of Israel, Thou only hidest 
Thy face. So will I always call more earnestly 
and continue instant in prayer. I will not leave off 
till Thou hearest me from Thy holy place. I do 
not come trusting in my own righteousness, but in 
Thy manifold and great mercy, which Thou hast 
promised us in Christ Jesus. He is my intercessor 
and advocate, behind Him I place myself, to Him I 
cleave in faith; therefore, Thou canst in no wise 
thrust me from Thee, because then must Thou re- 
ject Thy well beloved Son. Behold, willingly I 


240 


COUNT ERBACH. 


would lay down my life, if it were requisite to the 
honor of Thy name and the welfare of Thy kingdom; 
would even like the holy martyrs sing a hallelujah, if 
my blood is demanded; for I know that the blood of 
Thy witnesses is precious in Thy sight, and Thou 
plenteously rewardest those who are faithful unto 
death, according to the word of Thy dear Son: 
Whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but who- 
soever shall lay down his life for My sake, the same 
shall keep it unto life everlasting. O Lord, my soul 
is submissive to Thee, and my heart rejoices in God, 
my Saviour. Thou art my dear Father in Christ 
Jesus, and I am Thy child in faith. I am permitted 
to tell Thee everything, and Thou hearest me; 
Thou understandest my thought afar off, Thou art 
attentive to my muttered sighs. Away from me, 
all ye mine enemies and persecutors; the Lord 
hears my cry, the Lord accepts my prayer. Good- 
ness and mercy shall follow me all my life long, 
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. 
Amen.” 

After these words the man arose from his knees 
and extinguished the light. 

The Count von Erbach was standing with folded 
hands; his heart praying in unison with every syllable. 
The words of prayer had taken him as it were by 
storm and carried him along with them. He was 
filled with the awe of a holy devotion and could not 


OVERCOME. 


24I 


again escape its influence; for more and more earnest 
was the tone of entreaty, with increasing assurance 
did the filial trust of the suppliant fasten itself upon 
the throne of the heavenly grace, as if already cer- 
tain of an answer. What words were those ? Never 
yet had he heard any man pray thus — with such 
lowliness and with such confidence as well. It was 
not the words alone which took such hold of him; 
it was especially the tone, which sounded so different 
from the customary one of the rosary prayer. Just 
as a child speaks with its father, so spoke the man 
with Him whose name is holy, who dwelleth in light, 
which no man can approach unto, before whom earth 
and heaven bow and at whose wrath created things 
do tremble. What sort of man is that, who takes 
upon himself to speak thus with the King of kings ? 
Is it not presumption ? Is it not blasphemy ? Oh 
no; such is not the tone of his voice. One might 
think he heard a child talking — so lowly and sub- 
missive, so heartfelt, so full of trust and joy ! Oh 
what sort of a man is it ? He must be a saint, a 
prophet of God, not inferior to St. Bernard or St. 
Boniface. 

In the heart of the Count burned a flame which 
threatened to consume him. He did not know how 
it came about. He was drawn to the man whom he 
had heard praying, by a secret and powerful attrac- 
tion; and would have liked to clamber over the roof 


242 COUNT ERBACH. 

and through the window immediately. “ God be 
thanked,” he said at last, “ that I came to this inn 
for lodging to-day. God has sent such a man in my 
way, that he may set me apart by his blessing for 
the pious work I have in hand.” 

He stood at the window for a long time yet and 
dreamed, till at length weariness threw him on the 
couch. He fell into a deep sleep, and dreamed of 
the praying man, and heard his word of benediction. 

As he awakened at the dawn of day, he summoned 
the landlord, who entered promptly with a flagon of 
hot beer. The Count abruptly addressed him: “ Go 
immediately into your neighbor’s house and say to 
the landlord, that I would like to come and have 
some conversation with the man who is lodged in 
the corner room up there.” 

The landlord eyed the Count with a dubious and 
inquisitive look, in fact a question was already upon 
his tongue; but the recollection of the Count’s out- 
burst of anger last evening, at the mention of Lu- 
ther’s name, stopped the words upon his lips. He 
left the room with polite gestures, and muttered to 
himself, with repeated shakings of the head, as he 
descended the stairs: “How did he find out that Lu- 
ther had established his lodging with the Syndicus ? 
What can he want with Luther ? It will be well if 
he only has no sinister purpose; for he is not favor- 
able to the Wittenberg Professor.” 


OVERCOME. 


243 


While the Count was still sitting at breakfast, the 
smiling face of the landlord, who had performed his 
errand with despatch, appeared in the door with the 
answer: he had not found the landlord, but had there- 
fore gone himself to the guest; and that the latter 
was awaiting the visit. 

The Count instantly rose and left the hot beer 
standing half drunk. He girded on his sword, placed 
the helmet upon his head, and, followed by the anx- 
ious gaze of the landlord, betook himseK with heavy, 
clanking step to the neighboring he 

In a small, brown wainscoted co* use, richly 

furnished and perfumed with the odor g flowers 

— the guest-chamber of the respectable zr house, 

he found a monk in the black c f J wi or ti igustin- 
ians, with thin, pale cheeks, bu t 'vlth £y es under- 
fill expression, and a very remarkb/e pi ^ of intelli- 
gence upon his thoughtful countenance, which is the 
token of a man of special distinction and of high char- 
acter, so that one is instantly imbued as it were with 
devotion and veneration. One feels that he stands in 
the presence of a great man. 

Deeply affected with such a feeling, the Count re- 
mained standing in the door of the chamber, till the 
monk, with a pleasant smile, advanced to him, and 
extending his hand, asked what service he could 
render him. 

By the tone of voice and the whole manner and 


244 


COUNT ERBACH. 


spirit of the monk, were the sympathies of the Count 
touched and his heart drawn towards the man; and 
yet a feeling of diffidence held him bound — a rever- 
ence for the man whom he took by his prayer for 
a saint, and he therefore hesitated to grasp the offered 
hand. “ Reverend Sir,” he began at length with some 
difficulty, “ excuse me, if you please, that I break in 
upon your retirement at this early hour. Yet you 
may blame yourself for it. Last night I heard your 
words, which rend my heart and leave me no rest 
till I see and speak with the man who can pray in 
that manner. You must surely be a special friend 
of God and a saint; for you speak with the Lord of 
heaven in the confiding spirit of a child to its parent. 
Such a man may be capable above all others of giv- 
ing me a blessing for the work which I this day 
hope to perform in the name and for the honor of 
God.” 

“ Ah, Sir Count,” replied the monk, “why do you 
call me holy ? No one is holy except God alone. 
We men, however, all eat bread through the grace 
of our God, and even the best of us may only come to 
God through his grace and merciful kindness. We 
are all alike sinners and destitute of that which would 
make us acceptable to God. But, nevertheless, if you 
desire my blessing I will certainly give you the same; 
provided your purpose be really a work of piety and 
performed for the honor of God.” 


OVERCOME. 


245 


The features of the Count became animated. “ Un- 
doubtedly it is such/’ he answered; “for I wish to 
render a great service to the holy Church, and help 
her out of her great need and peril.” 

The monk looked up surprised. “Such language 
is delightful to my ears, Sir Count. This is really 
the longing and prayer of all devout Christians, ‘ Is 
there no balm in Gilead for the bleeding wounds of 
the Church of our Lord Jesus Christ ? Is there no 
physician there who could heal that which is torn ? ’ 
Sir Count, if you are the man who has such a balm, 
ah then, may you be blessed in the name of the 
Lord ! ” 

Count Eberhard involuntarily bent his knees and 
felt the hands of the monk upon his uncovered head. 
It seemed to him as if a power streamed upon him 
from those hands, animating him with life and fire. 

When he had risen again, the monk said to him: 
“ Now disclose to me also your enterprise, so that 
I can accompany you on your way with my prayers. 
Or is it a secret, which cannot be entrusted to the 
knowledge of another ? ” 

The Count responded: “It is, indeed, known only 
to a few trusty persons; and after it shall have been 
accomplished, requires also that no one shall find 
out who performed the deed. But you ought to 
know it, for my heart inclines to you with uncon- 
ditional confidence. Know, then, reverend Father: 


246 


COUNT ERBACH. 


I am fi om the Odenwald, the Count Eberhard von 
Erbach, and have ridden hither to Miltenberg in 
order to seize the ferocious wild boar which lays 
waste the Lord’s vineyard, and has also brought un- 
utterable sorrow into my house, since by infecting 
with his heresy he has made my expected son-in-law, 
Count Philip von Rieneck, unworthy of the posses- 
sion of his bride, and estranged the father from his 
daughter and the husband from his wife.” 

The monk listened; a brief smile passed over his 
face, which the count, however, did not observe, and 
meanwhile continued: “ My Father Confessor, whose 
word is to me as the voice of God, has solemnly 
enjoined upon me to remove from the sphere of action 
the Wittenberg heretic, Martin Luther; for if the root 
of a noxious plant is plucked up, no seed can fall 
from it. Be so good then, reverend Father, as to 
pray for me, that the heretic Luther may to-day 
fall into my hands.” 

During these words, the monk had made a move- 
ment, his smile had settled into a deep earnestness, 
and also his face had become a shade paler. As 
the Count finished, Luther approached a step nearer 
to him and said, with a tremulous voice: “ Behold, 
your prayer is already heard; God has given your 
enemy into your hand — I am Luther. Here I stand 
before you, a defenceless man — do to me as it seems 
good to you. I am the Lord’s servant; if it is 


OVERCOME. 


247 


determined in His counsel that I fall through your 
hand, let His will be done.” 

A brief clanking was heard in the chamber. Count 
Eberhard, the strong man, was so startled that sword 
and coat of mail rang with the shock. Then followed 
a long silence. The Count stood motionless, and his 
heart died within him, as if it had been stone. 

Luther also moved not from the spot. Meek and 
resigned he stood there, his hands folded on his breast, 
and his eyes cast down toward the floor. 

At last life came again into the Count; but his 
cheeks were pale and his eyes without lustre; his 
voice, too, had entirely lost its ring, and he said: 
“ Luther is a bad Christian, a child of unbelief and 
impiety, a pest of corruption — you cannot, therefore, 
be Luther; for your heart is pure and clean, as that 
of a saint, your faith is sure and clear and your prayer 
as of a genuine child of God. Tell me, then, the truth: 
you are not, you cannot be Luther.” 

A gentle smile now stole upon the monk’s lips: 
“ And nevertheless I am Luther, Martinus Luther 
of Mansfeld, Augustinian monk and Doctor of the 
Holy Scripture at Wittenberg. If you do not be- 
lieve it on my word, then I will call my excellent 
host, Sir Zacharias Eppelein, who will tell you the 
same.” 

The Count raised his arms in the air and folded 
liis hands with still troubled features, and cried, 


248 


COUNT ERBACH. 


speaking rather to himself than addressing another: 
“Ah, now I understand you, Philip! There fall 
from mine eyes, as it were scales. Oh, was I then 
smitten with blindness ? How could I so long with- 
stand the truth ? Philip — O — Philip, my son, what 
a wrong I have done to you ! Now I know and un- 
derstand your meaning, when you said: P"ather, you 
call him a heretic, because you do not know him. 
If you had seen him only one single time, you 
would — ” 

He broke off, overcome by his emotion, and re- * 
calling to mind that Luther was actually standing 
beside him, he grasped with a convulsive pressure 
both the hands of the monk, let them go immedi- 
ately, however, in alarm and said with a shudder: 
“Reverend Father, I am not worthy that the light 
of your eyes should fall upon me. I was in the very 
act of committing a most shameful and accursed deed. 

I nevertheless thank God that it has occurred; for God 
knows how to bring good out of evil. My sinful pur- 
pose has guided me to you, so that I saw you face 
to face and overheard your prayer. Now I know 
that he who was regarded as an emissary of hell 
is a messenger of God and an anointed servant of 
the Lord. O how the truth becomes falsehood, and 
falsehood truth ! Holy man, once already I craved 
for myself your benediction; now I entreat it a sec- 
ond time. Bless me, reverend Father, bless me for 


OVERCOME. 


249 


the perception and acknowledgment of the truth, 
that my soul may become free from the dominion 
of error and of superstition.” 

For the second time the Count knelt down, and felt 
as it were a thrilling sensation of bliss run through his 
frame as Luther, with an elevated and almost pro- 
phetic and inspired voice, spoke: “ The people that 
walked in darkness saw a great light, namely the 
light of Thy holy Gospel, O Lord of hosts, and the 
sheep which had gone astray come again to Thy 
fold, Thou great Shepherd and Bishop of our souls, 
O Lord Jesus. Behold, the time cometh, said the 
Lord of hosts, when the blinded eyes shall be opened 
and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped, and shall 
be filled with the knowledge of God and of His 
Anointed. A new time shall dawn and a new spring 
bloom in the valley of the shadow of death. Amen. 
Help, blessed Lord God ! Amen.” 

The Count’s chain coat of mail became too tight 
for him. He loosed with trembling hands the belt 
and opened the coat of mail, that he might breathe 
more freely. His eyes were fixed immovably on Lu- 
ther. He could not satisfy himself with looking at 
the unique and wonderful man. All at once, as if 
in an ecstacy, he cried: “ Ah what will you say, you 
dear ones at home, when I come and bring you the 
blessed news? You, too, what will you say when 
Count Eberhard knocks at your door and humbly 


250 


COUNT ERBACH. 


begs: Your hand here, Philip, in order that you may 
again be my son; and your heart here, that I may 
feel whether it can still have love for the destroyer 
of your life’s joy.” 

Luther interrupted him: “ You mentioned the name 
Philip, my very dear Sir Count; did you not a mo- 
ment ago call him Philip von Rieneck ? ” 

The Count replied in the affirmative. 

“ I know that person very well,” continued Luther; 
“ for a thirst for truth impelled him to come to Wit- 
tenberg. A dear and worthy man he is in my esti- 
mation, and I prize him as a friend, the youth with 
a lofty and noble intellect, and a pure, devout, and 
childlike heart. Take him a salutation from me, if 
you see him, and also my blessing.” 

The Count’s thoughts and feelings now drew him 
to a distance: his heart was too full. Accordingly, 
after requesting Luther’s writings, he took his leave; 
and Luther dismissed him with the heart-affecting 
words: “Go hence in peace, esteemed Sir Count! 
He who has begun the good work, will also carry 
it on according to His good pleasure. If God will, 
you are yet to see greater wonders than that He 
breaks swords and snaps asunder spears. His word 
can no man quench, it abideth for ever.” 

The Count had his horse saddled and rode swiftly 
away. 

When he came to his men in the pine wood, where 


OVERCOME. 


251 


they had been already joined by the other band, he 
made a sign to them while yet at some distance, and 
said: “Go home in peace — the word of the Lord en- 
dureth for ever.” Thereupon he rode past them in 
the direction of Fuerstenau. 

The troopers looked at each other in astonishment. 
“ What is the matter with the Count ? Has he lost 
his senses ? ” 

But while they were still talking together in per- 
plexity about the matter, the Count suddenly returned 
to them and said: “No, not home at present; hasten 
into the town, ride behind Luther as he goes to Hei- 
delberg, and see well to it that no harm befall him. 
If he ask you what you want, say to him that Count 
Eberhard von Erbach sent you.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A HAPPY HOUSE. 

“ JNCREDIBLE news I bring you, Sir Count! A 
company of horsemen are coming up the Cas- 
tle Hill, at the head of them is the Count von Er- 
bach ! ” With these words, uttered in a broken way 
for want of breath, old Jonathan rushed in to his 
master in the stable, where he was in the very act 
of mounting his horse. 

Count Philip von Rieneck turned round abruptly 
to ask a question, when a new messenger hastened 
to him with the same news. 

The Count stood motionless for a moment, his 
whole body paralyzed as it were, till the harsh grat- 
ing of the castle gate aroused him. Over the low- 
ered drawbridge rode, with a thundering tramp, ten 
mounted men into the castle court. Count Eberhard, 
who rode at their head, ordered a halt to his men 
and hastened with a friendly greeting to Philip, who 
was quite embarrassed to know what manner he 


A HAPPY HOUSE. 


253 


should assume. In a moment Count Eberhard had 
dismounted and beckoned Philip into the castle 
without speaking a word. 

With a thousand torturing thoughts, in alterna- 
tion between fears and hopes, Philip silently followed 
the Count till they had entered a quiet apartment. 
Here Count Eberhard opened wide his arms and in 
a voice, such as Philip had never before heard from 
him, said: “Come to my heart, my son.” 

Not knowing what to make of it, the young man 
threw himself upon the breast of the Count, and a 
solemn, holy stillness brooded over two hearts which 
beat in unison. 

After a long time, Count Eberhard held Philip at 
arm’s length from him, so as to be able to look him 
directly in the face. “ My son, I have two greetings 
to deliver to you. One of them is from your own 
Margaretta; the other is from Dr. Martin Luther.” 

Philip disengaged himself. His heart was ready 
to burst: “ Sir Count, my soul is wounded and sore 
unto death. O do not practice any cruel sport on 
me ! Yet you could not trifle with me. You have 
the manner of one who is in literal and sober ear- 
nest. But how am I to understand your words ? O 
speak, I pray you, and relieve me from the rack of 
suspense.” 

“ My son,” repeated the Count in a tone which 
deeply touched the heart, “ raise your eyes to hea- 


254 


COUNT ERBACH. 


veil in heartfelt thankfulness. The God who turns 
the hearts of men as the water-brooks, has done 
great things for you. He has opened the blinded 
eyes that they see; he has broken the hard hearts 
that they weep. My son, I stand before you as a 
penitent. I have, in my blindness, brought heavy 
guilt upon myself, plunged my wife and child, and 
also you, into sorrow and wretchedness. At home, 
however, I have already sought and obtained for- 
giveness; now come I to you, that a like blessing 
may befall me from you.” 

Philip pressed his folded hands upon his breast, 
which heaved with emotions too big for utterance, 
and which no words were adequate to express; and 
in his eyes Count Eberhard read what he desired. 
In his eager happiness he drew Philip near him on 
a seat of repose. There sat the two men well nigh 
two hours, and the old Count told his story, the 
young Count interposing occasional questions, and 
the aged Jonathan, for once doing violence to his 
instincts of propriety, acted the listener. He had 
clasped his withered hands devoutly and was weep- 
ing like a child 

I now see plainly that the kind reader is scarcely 
able to wait until the time arrives when the door of 
the Kemnate in the Castle of Fuerstenau will be 
thrown open to his view. The dear feast of Easter 
was past, but in Fuerstenau there was this year a 


A HAPPY HOUSE. 


255 


twofold solemnity. How quickly under the rays of 
God’s sun were the withered flowers able to bloom 
again and diffuse their fragrance ! Overmuch bliss 
may, perhaps, have a fatal effect in many cases. 
But it is only weak natures which will sink under 
it. Margaretta’s heart was great and strong, a gen- 
uine branch of the Erbach stem. It had been nerved 
and tempered in trouble; therefore also could it sus- 
tain no harm in happiness. Her own daily prayer 
was now: “Lord, give me not too much of earthly 
joy, that I may not forget Thee.” 

The waves of the Reformation rose higher and 
higher daily. They beat vehemently against the 
throne of the German Emperor, so that he was 
obliged to arise and take a position in reference 
to the mighty movement. At Worms, in the year 
1521, the Emperor Charles V. sat in a hall, sur- 
rounded by the flower of the German nobility. In 
one point was concentrated the world power which 
then existed in the holy Roman Empire of the Ger- 
man nationality. Confronted with this awe-inspiring 
array of earthly might stood a monk, clad in a mean 
black cowl, a poor monk who was required to con- 
fess before the Emperor and empire: “ I have been 
in error; I have offended the Pope and done harm 
to the Church of God; I recant and give up all my 
books to the flames.” 


256 


COUNT ERBACH. 


In the utmost tension of expectation, in the con- 
sciousness that the present moment is a turning point 
in the world’s history, are the eyes of all the princes 
fastened upon the monk, who stands erect in the 
midst of the hall, grasping the Bible in one hand 
while the other is lifted in solemn appeal to heaven. 
At first his voice is gentle, with a certain tinge of 
sadness; but very soon he entirely regains his ac- 
customed firmness, louder and more majestic resound 
the words, more full and powerful the tones float 
away, like a mountain torrent which carries with it 
boulders and the trunks of trees, or the tempest 
which upheaves the mighty oaks; until, as a trumpet 
blast, ring out the words of the prophet: “ Here I 
stand, I cannot do otherwise, God help me, Amen.” 

A profound sensation, a mighty stir is felt in the 
hall. The Emperor is in a state of furious excite- 
ment; his face glows like fire and his right hand 
is raised in a threatening posture. The princes around 
him are pale with rage and fear. But here and there 
also is an animated expression of the eyes, a sup- 
pressed applause, or a nod of approbation and en- 
couragement. O, the monk stands not alone, friends 
are standing by his side, friends whom he has al- 
ready long known, and friends whom he has won 
for himself to-day. 

There behind the columns we perceive a face al- 
ready known to us — Count Eberhard von Erbach. 


A HAPPY HOUSE. 


257 


He has hung, the whole time, with breathless anx- 
iety, upon the lips of the monk — he, one of the truest 
and most faithful. Now, when Martin Luther is 
about to be conducted out of the hall, he presses 
forward to him. He must stand by his side, in case 
any danger befall him. 

Luther recognizes him at once, and extends to 
him his hand with his face lighted up: “You here, 
too, my much loved Sir Count ? ” 

“Reverend Father,” replied Count Eberhard deeply 
moved, “Where Martin Luther is in danger, there 
must Count Erbach not fail to be.” 

“ God reward and bless you for such fidelity,” was 
Luther’s reply. “ But be without any solicitude, my 
dearest Count: my defence is with God.” 


The spring of the year 1522 opened, and the snow- 
drops welcomed its arrival. Up there in Castle 
Fuerstenau it was also green and blooming with a 
new and pure life, but not in the gardens alone. The 
men also were arrayed in festive apparel — from the 
lord of the Castle down to the very lowest servant 
and humblest maid. “This is the day which the 
Lord has made for us; come let us rejoice and be 
glad therein.” So it was clearly depicted in every 
countenance. Long, long had they waited for this 
day — that those might be joined together by the 
hand of the priest whom God had long since united 


258 


COUNT ERBACH. 


in heart. This day had been so long deferred, both 
by the wish of the young people themselves and by 
the advice of the parents, in order that the tender 
bud Margaretta might first bloom in full maturity 
and virgin strength. Besides it was desired that a 
work might be completed, of which Count Eber- 
hard had laid the foundation stone a year and a half 
before. For he wished to erect, on the site of the 
demolished chapel of the castle, a new edifice in 
which the Triune God should be worshipped in new 
tongues. Philip had returned successful from Wit- 
tenberg, whither he had gone for the purpose of wit- 
nessing on the spot — the new order and mode of 
divine service, and also to request from the Re- 
former a clergyman after his own heart. He brought 
one such with him — the former altarist Johann Speck- 
el, who after the mighty effect of the Gospel on 
Count Erbach was not much longer able to resist 
the convictions of truth, and in Wittenberg had re- 
ceived a consecration for the ministry of the Gospel. 

The bell rang out from the tower, and across the 
castle court moved a long, solemn procession, and 
halted before the altar of the little church. But on 
the steps knelt two blessed of the Lord, who were 
to receive a new blessing from the hand of ever- 
lasting compassion. 


sisTsn auB soj . vt . 


A SKETCH OF THE LIFE 


OF 


JACQUELINE PASCAL. 


BY 


SOFHT -WIHTHROF WEITZEL. 


Cloth, 12mo. • - - - - - - $1.50. 



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ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY, 

900 Broadway, Cor. 20th St., New York. 
•** Sent by mail , post-paid, on receipt of $ 1 . 50 . 


MEMORIALS OF 

Frances Ridley Havergal. 

EDITED BY HER SISTER, M. V. G. H. 


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44 Full of good works of a gentle and loving spirit, 
memorials without benefit.” — So. Churchman. 


none can read these pleasant 


“A volume of deep interest.” — The Interior. 

An earnest worker in every department of benevolent enterprise, she was a 
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Sent by mail, prepaid, by the publishers, on receipt of price, or may be obtained 
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A Complete list of Miss Havergal’s works will be found in the following pages. 


1 














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